Bloodlust
by Zayz
Summary: AU. T/Z. A series of mysterious killings grips the state of Virginia. Bodies are piling up and nobody, not even Abby and her beloved mass spectrometer, can provide any answers…until Tony stumbles upon a young vampire named Ziva, and everything changes. [And I feel honor-bound to inform you that while this is definitely weird, it's not a soppy Twilight-style love story. I promise.]
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Happy October, my loves!

So...NCIS, vampire-style. I know, it's weird. But you clicked, so you must be ready to roll with the crazy.

Though I want this to be a fun, different take on the NCIS characters, I also want to make sure I take it seriously enough that it doesn't get stupid. So, this is not your traditional love story. It's T/Z, yes, but Ziva is a vampire and I want to make sure I do vampires justice after Stephenie Meyer bastardized them in Twilight. I tried not to do that, I tried hard to be true to both vampire lore and NCIS and my unique brand of weirdness, and now the rest is up to you.

_In this timeline, Kate just died but no one replaced her and Ziva never joined the team._

My thanks to my lovely beta and friend Mina (_Wilhelmina Willoughby_) who helped me piece the plot together (and will probably be looking over future chapters for me). She's brilliant and I do not deserve her.

As always, this one's for you guys. My readers. You are all perfect and I love you. Hope I did you proud.

* * *

**Bloodlust  
By: Zayz**

I wait my whole life to bite the right one  
Then you come along and that freaks me out

For richer or poorer, through sickness and in health  
Til death do us part  
Til death do us part  
You only live once  
Well, not in our case  
because we live forever.

- Outkast, "Dracula's Wedding"

* * *

"DiNozzo! Up!" Gibbs sails through the bull-pen, swatting the back of Tony's head without so much as blinking. "We got work to do."

"Boss?" Tony's head pops up, his hair standing every which way.

He looks terrible. A light layer of fuzz is beginning to crop up on his jaw. There are definite shadows under his eyes, and the lines of his face look deeper somehow. His suit is as rumpled as he is. In the past week, he must have slept under twenty hours. And now it's seven thirty in the morning and here he is, slapped awake.

"DiNozzo, where's McGee?" Gibbs is more agitated than usual this morning, downing what appears to be his second cup of coffee for the morning. Apparently he hasn't slept much either.

"Went to the bathroom, boss."

"Well, we have two more bodies."

"Two more?" Tony is aghast. This is the fifth body in five days. "Same MO?"

Gibbs nods and briefly rubs his face in his hands, betraying his exhaustion and frustration.

"Where were these ones found?"

"Norfolk. Near the ocean."

Tony shakes his head. "And Abby. She hasn't found anything useful?"

"Not yet."

McGee appears, as worn-out as Tony, yawning as he approaches his desk. He sees Gibbs and instantly his back straightens, his eyes large and innocent and fixed on Gibbs.

"Good morning, boss," says McGee, smiling weakly.

"Two more bodies, McGee. DiNozzo, get the keys. We're going to Norfolk."

"On it, boss." Tony scrambles for the keys and his backpack, and the three rush out to the elevator.

* * *

It's been two months, but it still doesn't feel right, going to the crime scene in a group of three rather than four. There's still a pang in Tony's chest where Kate used to be – and still somehow lives. He misses her every time they set off into the warm summer mornings, gear in hand, getting stuck in traffic. He and McGee still banter, but it's muted. It's not the same.

The work is enough that they need do another person on the team, but Gibbs hasn't gotten around to hiring one yet, and neither Tony nor McGee dare to ask him to.

They arrive in reasonable time to their crime scene in Norfolk. As ever, Ducky is late, appearing irate as Palmer apologizes over and over for not taking the right exit. Ducky settles in on the ground with the bodies, gently examining them, his keen eye looking for clues.

At last, he says, "I'm sorry to say it, Jethro, but these are as clean as the last victims. Same MO. As you see here, there are two puncture wounds in each of their necks, and they are both drained of their blood. Judging by their palor, I'd say there's little, if any blood, inside their bodies."

"What do you think that means, Duck?" Gibbs's brows are furrowed with frustration.

"I think you're dealing with a serial killer," says Ducky. "And I think you'd better find him fast."

"You think it's a him?"

"Now, this is obviously more your area of expertise than mine, but in my experience, this sort of violence tends to correspond more to males than to females," he says. "This MO is highly unusual. Vampiric – like in the old stories. And vampire lore tends to focus on masculine aggressors and feminine victims. But again, I leave this to your good detective work rather than my speculations."

Smiling slightly, Ducky gestures for Palmer to get the gurney, and get the bodies back to truck. Gibbs sighs wearily, anticipating another long day and a longer night. Tony and McGee canvas the scene, and exchange nervous glances; they too anticipate yet another long day.

"Who do you think this guy _is_?" McGee asks. "I mean, there's no pattern to the victimology. The only thing we've found so far linking the five previous victims is that they were in quiet, isolated areas and snatched without anyone knowing, and then dumped somewhere near water."

"I don't know who he is," says Tony. There's an edge in his voice that betrays his own frustration. "But we'll figure it out. Soon."

"Yeah," says McGee, because that's what he is supposed to say, even if he doubts it.

Tony knows this. He shoots the probie a Look, and continues searching the surrounding area.

There's something about this case. Something that raises the hairs on the back of his neck. He has seen terrible things on the job, yet there is something about these blood-drained bodies, these random victims, this alarming kill rate, that feels strange. It's a visceral gut reaction that he can't quite put his finger on.

He wants to tell McGee, but he doesn't know which words to use. He can't explain it. And even if he could, he doubts the probie would understand. McGee, whose world is composed of computers and numbers and pixels and logic, wouldn't be able to comprehend the way the human gut just _knows _things.

For the second time today, Tony misses Kate. Maybe she would have understood. Maybe she would have felt it too. Kate was always more intuitive than McGee.

There's nothing in the surrounding areas. As in the previous cases, the killer didn't leave any good clues behind.

McGee is wrapping up too, unsuccessful. Gibbs isn't pleased. His mouth is tight and his eyes are steely, stormy, and this does not bode well for the next few hours.

* * *

At one in the morning, McGee is falling asleep at his desk and decides it's time to go home. Tentatively, he asks permission, and Gibbs just shrugs, which is actually scarier than his temper because it means he, too, has hit a snag he hasn't found a way to unravel.

Abby found no DNA on the bodies. There were some signs of a struggle, but for both victims, they were minor; it didn't take much to subdue them. Considering the victims were a thirty-five-year old marathon runner and a twenty-five-year-old petty officer, this suggests a powerful attacker, but not much more. There were no strange substances in or around the bodies. The blood appears to have been drained from the puncture wounds.

Abby and McGee have gone through their computers and there is nothing of value on them. The victims led fairly ordinary lives. They appear to be victims of opportunity – which of course gets the investigation nowhere. And there will probably be more bodies soon.

Tony's head is fuzzy and aching, but that twisty gut feeling he had at the crime scene persists. His body is screaming at him to go home and sleep while he can, but he finds himself driving away from his street and back to Norfolk, back to the crime scene. He knows he probably won't find anything, but his mind is as restless as his body is tired, and the only cure for that is pushing at this until he feels settled. Whenever "settled" is.

He drives around the area where the bodies were found, and then were the victims were thought to be trekking. There's a forest nearby; apparently, they were hikers. Agents canvassed that area too, but found nothing. He parks the car near the edge of the forest and wanders in.

The trees are tall and coolly intimidating, the branches rustling softly in the light wind. The night isn't cold, but Tony still wishes he'd thought to bring his jacket. He feels vulnerable, unprotected, out in this place. Though he's just a few miles from civilization, he feels isolated, like he's in some displaced wilderness away from humankind. It's probably pretty to walk around here during the day, but it's admittedly creepy at night. He follows the footpath, one step after another, reminding himself to look at the stars when the trees feel daunting.

This is a stupid idea. He should go home, make some hot chocolate, and go to sleep. He's never going to find anything in the dark. His restlessness has faded; he's more fatigued than anything else. So Tony turns around to go back to his car, wondering what the fuck is wrong with him.

But that's when he hears a sound that isn't his moving feet. A crack of a branch, a sudden punch of intuition that tells him he isn't alone. He whirls around, searching for the source of the threat – and there, standing a few yards away, eyes like cold, irreverent gems in the night, is a coyote.

_A coyote._

He didn't even know those lived in Virginia.

But this one does. This one is slightly crouched, like it's waiting to attack, its teeth glinting like a row of shiny swords in the moonlight.

Tony has seen a lot and done a lot on the job, but he has never been afraid like he is now, tense and realizing all too potently that his life is in serious danger. He can't stay here, but he can't move; he's paralyzed with terror, and anyway, it would probably piss off the coyote and send it running after him, vicious and hungry and ready to tear the flesh from his bones.

"Nice coyote," he says uncertainly, edging back slightly. "Easy there…let's not make this a Thing, blow it out of proportion…"

The coyote doesn't appear convinced. It takes a defiant step forward.

Fuck.

His chances of escape appear increasingly dim. He has no idea what to do. He keeps edging back, an uneasy smile plastered to his face, his speed increasing. The coyote is in full-on challenge position now, obviously agitated.

Tony keeps stepping back, but fear takes over then and he starts running – and as he suspected, the coyote bolts after him, faster than anything he's ever encountered – and it's getting too close too quickly, even as he runs full out, adrenaline pumping through every cell in his body. He tries his best not to scream, tries to find his car, but the trees are everywhere and he's so afraid that he'll trip over a root or something and get eaten alive, and this was _such a bad decision, he has no idea why the fuck he came here tonight—_

The coyote bites at his leg. Its teeth sink into his calf, pain explodes on the spot, and he falls. His heart is beating so fast and so hard it's echoing in his ears. All he can think is yup, this is it, this is the end – alone in a forest with a coyote. All he can do is close his eyes and hope his heart will stop quickly enough that he won't feel most of this.

But something happens then. Just as the coyote lunges on top of him, its teeth bared, just as it digs its paws into his flesh, just as it starts biting his chest and the pain is like an all-encompassing hurricane and he's about to black out – something stronger and faster than the animal appears out of nowhere. It pulls the coyote off of him – it howls – but the howls get softer, faded, like it was thrown a great distance.

There's blood everywhere, so much blood. He's woozy, in and out of focus. This is it, this is the end, he's going to die here, even if the coyote is mysteriously gone. His brain is awash with chemicals and fear. He never does get to see his life flash before his eyes, though. He just sees hazy colors and blurs, even as he tries to focus on what exactly is here, saving him.

Right at the end, where his memory blanks, he remembers is a voice, a woman's voice, saying, "Shhhhh…" He remembers bursts of pale brown and red circles and forest green, the blurs of trees. A shadow, heavy and cold, hovering over him, lowering itself into his neck. A new puncture of pain, a white supernova of agony and heat swallowing up his senses—

And then nothing. Just black.

* * *

A/N: My Google search informed me that small numbers of coyotes do live in Virginia, though they are more plentiful elsewhere. For the purposes of this story, this is absolute fact and that's all I'll say about it.

So. There's chapter one. There will be five. Are you excited? I'm excited. There's some fun stuff coming up. Hope you guys will stick around for it.

Review box is below, in case you forgot.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I was going to post this a bit later, but I figured that since you guys are the best readers anyone could ask for, I would post sooner. The update speed between chapters two and three should tell you how little homework I did yesterday, and how behind I am now. Hopefully chapter three will take its time because I have so much to do this weekend, it's not even funny.

Thanks to you all, though, for being willing to try something a bit…off-beat. Your interest is thrilling. I'm honored that you trust me.

As ever, I hope I did you proud.

* * *

**Chapter II**

* * *

When consciousness finally comes for Tony, it's like being shot with a burst of adrenaline. He sits bolt upright, eyes open, body alert, with none of the usual haziness that accompanied his morning alarm clock.

He's lying on soft muddy Earth, the forest like a storybook come to life. Every shade of green unfolds around him, vivid and bright. The birds are singing their songs, flying overhead. It's a scene of perfect tranquility – yet as he takes in his surroundings and gets his memory jogging again, Tony is anything but tranquil.

The last thing he remembers is being jumped by a coyote. He remembers the colors, the haziness, the pain so deep that he could scarcely breathe. And he remembers the voice, the woman's voice. _"Shhhh…" _Who was she?

He's still wearing his clothes from yesterday. Strangely, he can feel every individual fiber of cloth that went into making the garment. The greenery he sees – it's too sharp, like the resolution on a picture is too high for his nerves to process. He smells the dead animals miles away, the recently rain-soaked mud. His senses are barraged with a level of detail he had never imagined possible. He can see the individual feathers of a bird flying thousands of feet in the air, five hundred yards away. It's astounding – dizzying.

He checks his extremities for signs of a struggle, takes off his shirt and checks there for injuries too. But, somehow, he isn't injured. His skin is clear and perfect. Furthermore, he is pale, _really _pale, almost translucent paper white – and his muscle is harder, firmer. He flexes and it can't be his arm, popping those perfect athlete biceps like that.

He runs his tongue over his teeth and finds they're sharper. He means to jog to a tree about fifty yards away, but he's there before he has time to realize he's there – and then back before he can fathom what happened. His legs seem to go as fast as thought. He tries to find his pulse, but his heart is silent.

And when he runs his dry tongue over his lips, and he feels an animal thirst bubbling up into his throat – that's when he has an inkling of what he is.

But it's so ridiculous that he can't even think the word. He won't. Because he's Tony DiNozzo, NCIS Special Agent, fully human…right?

_Right_?

He puts his shirt back on, though really he doesn't need to because his skin feels thick, like armor. He climbs up the tree he's in front of, because he finds that he can, and he surveys the forest, even spots his car, waiting patiently about a mile away. He sits there in the branches for a long time, trying to figure out what exactly has just happened.

It just makes no sense. What the fuck happened last night?

* * *

About an hour later, Tony descends from the tree, determined to make plans. He's sure he's extraordinarily late to work, and Gibbs and McGee will be worried. They won't be able to reach him. He wants to go back, or at least find his phone in his car and call, but instinct tells him that in this uncertain state, he shouldn't contact them just yet.

He figures he'll just go home, take a shower, change his clothes and maybe go to a hospital. Then he'll go to the office.

It's a shitty plan, but at least it's better than no plan.

Tony is about to set off to his car when, without any warning whatsoever, no sound or change in the wind, a woman appears in front of him and says, "Wow. It's about time you woke up."

He jumps in shock – only, instead of just starting, he leaps back about ten feet.

Mildly embarrassed, he walks back slowly towards her, surveying her up and down, taking in the sight of her.

He catalogues the obvious things first – she's a little shorter than he is, and slim, tiny. Her skin is tinged with brown, but she has the same deathly pallor of his own skin. But the thing that draws his attention most is her eyes.

He has never before seen such eyes – her eyelashes are long and lovely, like parted window blinds framing her startling eyes, which are bright blood-red. She seems to have smaller pupils than most human, but they dilate now, and thanks to his enhanced senses, he can see them inflate, like a black balloon in the middle of that pool of red. An inexplicable chill comes over him, staring at those eyes.

There's something very raw and cool and sexual about the way she carries herself. She's wearing an old black tank top, tight and a little too short, and he can just see the indent of her belly-button where the top ends. Her hair is dark and wild and curly, cascading down her shoulders in an irreverent wave. And she's currently sucking on a piece of meat, her tongue running up and down the uneven distribution of flesh, the visible patches of bone. And the way she's staring at him right now, it's as though she's about to eat him up like she's eating the meat, taking her time, relishing every last bite.

He's more than a little uncomfortable with this strange, exotic creature and her predator eyes. So he tries to hide the fear by standing right up close to her, so close he can focus on her every pore if he wanted to, and he asks her, "Who are you?" _What are you?_

She smiles mischievously, revealing her own sharp fangs. "I'm Ziva."

"Ziva." He tastes the word, rolls it around on his tongue. "Well, Ziva, I'm Tony."

She nods like she already knew. He looks at her quizzically, but she just ignores him, raking him up and down with her eyes. The enthusiasm – and, yes, the hunger – flicker like flames in her irises.

"Well, you transformed successfully," she says. "I had not been sure. I stuck around the forest to make sure you hadn't died on me."

"Wait, _what?_" There's a lot of information in those words, and he hopes beyond hope he interpreted them wrong.

She cocks an eyebrow. "Your transformation. It worked," she says very slowly, like she's talking to an ignorant child. "You're not dead. Well – in one sense of the phrase, at least." She smirks at her little joke.

"So…so that's what happened. I transformed."

"You did."

"Into a…" He gulps, like the word coming up is poison. "A _vampire._"

"Yes." She doesn't seem perturbed. She delicately peels a layer of flesh off her bone and chews it finely, swallows it down, her eyes like flickering fire again.

"What is that?" he asks her.

"This?" She holds up the meat. "You can't have any."

"I didn't want any," he says, as his stomach sends a pang through him that clearly disagrees. "What is it?"

"I went hunting." She peels another layer, licks her lips like she's sucking on candy.

He looks a little more closely at the meat, and finds that the slab contains five smaller slabs near the bottom, where she hasn't eaten yet. But the five smaller slabs aren't paw-shaped, they're slim, long, almost like—

"Ziva, are you eating a _human arm_?"

Ziva blinks innocently. "Yes. Why? Are you hungry?"

He feels like he's going to be sick.

"Since you're a newbie, I suppose I can share my kill," she allows. "I've stashed it up that tree over there. Do you want a leg or an arm?"

"Neither," he manages to choke.

"Are you a torso man?" She winks conspiratorially.

She's up and down the neighboring tree before he can process her words, holding in her hands a large slab of meat. A human torso, laid out like a gift.

If there was anything in his stomach, anything at all, he would have vomited it up by now.

"No. Ziva. I'm not eating that."

"Why? It's fresh. I got it just last night."

"Last…last night?"

"Yes. That's how I found you. I was about a mile and a half away, and I bagged a great kill, and then I heard you and the coyote." She shakes her head, laughing. "_Good coyote. Let's not make this a Thing. _It was hilarious."

Since Tony doesn't want the meat, she polishes off the arm she had started on, and sits on the ground, beginning work on the torso. He is simply speechless for several minutes, watching her progress, unable to grasp how casually she is eating what was, a few hours ago, a living, breathing human being.

When he finally finds his voice, he says, "So you're the one that's been killing all those people this week." It's not a question, but a statement.

She confirms with a nod and a grin.

"Yes. It was me." Her mouth is covered in red. "Don't take it personally. It's just what I do."

"Take what personally?"

"Not being able to catch me. You're the navy cop, right? DiNozzo?"

He's chilled by his last name on the lips that are currently digesting a man's chest.

"Yeah. DiNozzo."

"Right. You were here yesterday afternoon too, for those bodies."

"We were." The shock ripples in his stomach like pebbles breaking water. "How do you know that?"

"Like I said, it's what I do." She wipes her mouth with her arm, leaving a smear of brownish red on her skin. "I take a hiker or two. Just suck out the blood, nothing else, and leave it for you cops to find. It drives you _crazy_, trying to figure it out." The thought brings an amused grin to her face. "I watch the investigation. It goes on for a few weeks, and then it closes and I move on to another city."

"You've done this before now?"

"For years. All over the world." She shrugs like it's no big deal, and continues with her meal. "Unlike some vampires, I prefer to eat the flesh, not just drink the blood, but for the sake of the game, sometimes I make do. The police can then at least identify who I have killed."

She sounds so matter-of-fact, like she's explaining the rules to a board game rather than her single-handed destruction of human life. He just can't believe her. It takes him several minutes of standing there, watching her merrily eat her kill, to find his voice and his words again.

"So that's all it is to you. A game. A way to pass your eternal life. It _is _eternal life you've got, right? As a vampire?" The word still tastes strange to him. He doubts he'll ever get used to it – though he will likely have a long time to try.

She frowns slightly. "Yes. You're right."

"Why would you do that?"

Her confusion is pronounced in her wide eyes. "Because it's fun."

_Fun_. It's _fun _for her to sneak up on people and murder them and then eat their remains so that they are forever a missing case file on a cop's computer, buried under the thousands of others who will probably never come home to their families.

And with a jolt he remembers Kate, Kate who was shot on a roof-top by a madman, Kate who never got to live the rest of her life – Kate who lies in a hole in the ground, dead by someone else's whim. If any blood still remained in him, it would have churned, hot and angry, through his veins. He clenches his fist, forcing himself not to leap on top of her and rip her to pieces.

"Death is not fun, Ziva," he says tersely. "What you do is wrong."

But now she looks like she's as confused as he was when he woke up this morning, facing an impossibly strange situation – her brows are furrowed, and her head is cocked to the side, surveying him with her unnatural stare.

"Strange," she says at last, after a long silence. "Your empathy is strange, Tony DiNozzo."

"My empathy?"

"Yes." Ziva rises to her feet, abandoning her kill, circling slowly around him, like he's the alien species in this scenario. "Vampires do not have it, you see. I've met many. I have been around long. But none of them…connect this way to humans, once they have turned."

Now Tony is astonished too. "Really?"

"Yes." Her eyes are like red construction drills, unblinking and penetrating. "You are an unusual vampire."

"How do you think I got like that?"

He's being serious; being a vampire is weird enough, but now he's a weird vampire on top of that and he isn't sure what to do about it. But she keeps staring at him, as though trying to decide whether to answer him, or how to do it if she did.

She steps closer, her expression still calculating. Up close like this, she smells metallic, like the blood on her hands, but also vaguely flowery. Do vampires have scents the way humans do? He can't be sure, but hers isn't entirely awful, like her hobby is. Her skin looks like marble, hardened and smooth, and her eyes appear even more dangerous, and even more alluring.

There is blood on her breath as she finally says, "No more talking."

"What? Why?"

"You are a vampire now, Tony. I have given you what I owe you; I have made sure you are not dead. Go figure out your life. I have nothing more to do here."

She stares a beat longer, then takes her kill and disappears into the forest. Most likely, she is off to kill some other unsuspecting human, drink their blood and leave their remains for someone else to deal with.

A shiver goes down Tony's back. He shakes his head, confused and sickened. He can still smell the blood from Ziva's meal. He goes off to his car, sticks his face in the seat, breathing in the leather and wishing he could just go to work and have his life back. He would give anything to turn up at work late, receive his headslap, and go about his business, ignorant of vampires in forests chewing on human arms.

* * *

After Ziva leaves, Tony ultimately just wanders around the forest, taking in the scenery with his enhanced senses but mostly turning his thoughts around in his head, over and over and over, getting nowhere. The forest is beautiful, but he wants to be in the office, drinking coffee, looking forward to kicking his feet up and watching a good movie when he got home.

His whole life has been taken away from him. He's this vampire thing now. He doesn't get to go back to his apartment. He doesn't get to see the team – and they're probably extremely worried, searching for him, worrying about him. He wants to tell them he's still here, still alive, but that's not entirely true, is it?

He's a vampire. The undead. The never-to-be-dead. Doomed to wander the Earth until the end of time. And that's too long to even begin to comprehend today, on Day One. Before, he could never even contemplate his whole week, let alone all the time left for humans to inhabit this planet.

In just a few hours, his whole life is different. It's too fast. It's too much too soon. But this is how it happens for everyone. The big things happen all at once. Change comes and sweeps through people's lives and takes no prisoners, leaves no untouched survivors.

Around mid-afternoon, he gets his first hunger pangs. In his previous life, not so long ago, hunger pangs meant pizza and beer, maybe coffee if he couldn't get the first two. Now it means…humans. Their blood. Their flesh.

His thirst for this frightens him.

It shouldn't – according to Ziva, most vampires seem to adjust quite easily to their new state – but Tony's brain and feelings remain intact inside this new body of a beast. The mere idea of eating people, or drinking their blood, makes him want to rip his own head off. He can't possibly eat a human. He can't.

So he has to settle for an animal.

Which means he, too, has to hunt.

* * *

Once, when Senior went to England and dragged Tony along during high school, Tony and Senior went shooting like proper English gentlemen with a group of Senior's business partners. They had their rifles and shot at game, relying on eyes and ears, instinct and reflex. Senior was lousy – his aim was off and his instincts were almost always wrong – but he kept up a charming stream of jokes to distract his companions from noticing. Tony, on the other hand, was pretty good. At sixteen, he outshot most of the adults Senior brought along.

Hunting now, as a vampire, is an entirely different experience.

He doesn't have to strain to understand the information given to him by his eyes and ears. He gets the information quickly, easily, and the difference is like switching from doing work by hand to doing work on the computer. It was a level-change, one that was exciting and accurate and startling. He sniffed out the animals, lunged at them before they realized anything was watching them, and he held them easily as they struggled to get away. It was effortless, something he could be good at.

He just catches the animals and lets them go at first, because while he is an unapologetic meat eater, catching and killing the warm, breathing creature is an entirely different experience than chomping on it between two buns. But once he really feels the hunger pangs, around twilight, he figures it's time to suck it up and kill something.

He decides on a deer near the edge of the forest, nibbling its way around the leaves and berries. It's a strong, sturdy creature, the muscles in its midsection hard and obvious. It doesn't know what's coming for it, and Tony hates himself for what he has to do, but he lunges before he can have second thoughts, and traps the beast in his arms. It struggles, but Tony sinks his fangs into its hot neck, draws the blood, swallows it down.

The deer stops struggling eventually, as he sucks more and more blood. It grows limp in his arms, its eyes unfocused, obviously dead. But the blood is rich and warm, and it restores new life in him. His muscles are even stronger, his senses even sharper. He sucks every last drop of blood from the deer and wipes his mouth with his arm, exhilarated but afraid, like he's going to get caught and arrested for doing such a terrible thing.

He knows that won't happen. The forest is calm, quiet. No one will ever know what he did.

Well, except for him. He'll know.

If by some miracle he gets to be a human again, he is becoming a vegetarian for good.

Bolstered by his meal of deer blood, Tony decides to get back to his car and drive home, damn the consequences. After his speed in the forest, the car – and the traffic – feel impossibly slow, like treacle on a winter day. But he arrives at his building and abandons his car in the parking garage, and lies in his bed, staring at the ceiling, head spinning.

Vampire. He's a _vampire_. He drank a deer's blood today, and watched Ziva eat that person's body.

In spite of himself, he thinks of Abby. How much she would secretly enjoy such a horrible tale. She has such an obsession with vampires and blood and death. She thinks it's just fun and games, a scary story to stimulate the adrenaline, something to amuse her in the rare hours she's not at work.

He smiles wryly to himself. Oh, if only she knew the truth.

* * *

A/N: And there it was, Chapter Two. I hope you guys enjoyed vampire!Ziva as much as I did. We'll see more of her next chapter. (Duh.)

But until then, please leave reviews, my darlings. They are my life force and my motivation and my everything. So.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Here's your next chapter. It gave me a lot of trouble, and I had to reorganize my whole outline, but it's nice and long to compensate how long I took to write it and I'm pretty pleased with the result. I hope you guys enjoy it.

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**Chapter III**

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Even in his own bed, immersed in his own surroundings, Tony can't sleep. His body is stubbornly restless and alert, constantly distracted by the fibers of his blanket, the details in the wood of his window-sill.

Once dawn approaches, he slips out of the house and drives out to the forest in Norfolk. It's the only place he can think of to go, the only place to which he feels connected at all. His apartment, his neighborhood, the route to his office, even the beloved NCIS building – none of that feels like his anymore. The human Tony DiNozzo is dead and this thing, this monster, that he has become is not entitled to the spoils of human Tony's life.

Even though it kills him, he must let all of that go. He must do what Ziva said, figure out his life. He has so much of it to live now. So much time, too much time, for someone who never asked for it, and probably doesn't deserve it. It's overwhelming to stand here at day one, and contemplate the end, lightyears away.

He arrives in the forest, which is cool and fresh and welcoming at this early hour. He wanders through the mess of trees, feeling small beneath the blanket of brightening blue sky. He captures another deer, with less apprehension this time, and takes his time sucking the warm blood, feeling it flowing through his empty veins, revitalizing him.

Tentatively, he takes a bite out of the deer's side, curious about Ziva's inclination toward animal flesh. Personally, he finds it disgusting and can't understand why she eats it. He swallows it with distaste and decides to stick to the blood.

Once he's finished, he wanders some more, wondering how on Earth he is going to spend this one day, let alone the rest of all time. He sits up a tree and takes in the view, even emptier as usual as he watches the sun rise, goes through his work routine in his head.

Gibbs and McGee must be worried sick about him. Only two months ago, they lost Kate, and just as things were starting to resemble normalcy, he, Tony, goes missing. There must be a search party. They must be looking for his cell phone – which he turned off and lost somewhere. His car, the forest, he doesn't know. He doesn't need to know anymore. His car is with him, so he's not sure they'll ever find it. No one would guess he'd be in Norfolk, back at the crime scene. They'll be searching blindly, no leads. Poor probie McGee will have to step up now, stand up to the boss, do his job even better. He's the only one left.

As he's lost in these thoughts, though, Tony's new eyes catch sight of an impossible blur making its way through the forest. A cold thrill goes down his spine.

Ziva. She's here.

He climbs down the tree and follows the scent of fresh blood. He's a thousand times more sensitive than a bloodhound, and tracks her in a matter of minutes. She's at the opposite end of the forest, poised on the top of the highest tree branch that will hold her weight, gazing down.

Tony gets behind the same tree at once. Humans are afoot. There are two of them, a man and a woman, probably man and wife, talking and laughing and walking through the forest. They smell like sweat and dirt and something cloyingly sweet, most likely the woman's artificial perfume, but the undertone of blood is unmistakable. It's like smelling a Thanksgiving feast, but knowing he isn't allowed to eat it. He feels the tightness in his stomach, the sudden dryness in his throat, his muscles primed to catch that kill the moment his brain gives the order.

But his brain refuses. It's wrong. He shouldn't.

Ziva, however, doesn't share his concern.

Like a cat, she jumps out of the tree and lands gracefully on all-fours, her fangs bared. The man and the woman start, staring at this creature looking at them with such a bloodthirsty look in her eye. The woman screams, raising the tiny hairs at the nape of Tony's neck. The two try to run, but they are dead already and Ziva knows it. She grins, licks her lips, let them think they're getting away by giving them a head start. But they are the yarn and she is the feisty feline and after they get about fifty yards away, she bounds after them, impossibly fast.

Tony's cold, bloodless heart breaks a little for the couple. They are in their late twenties, maybe early thirties – young, fit, happy, just living their lives and enjoying nature. They don't deserve to lose their lives like this, because Ziva is hungry.

So he tears after her, following her scent and theirs, determined to stop her.

It's close, but he makes it. Ziva clearly likes to play with her food before she eats it; she's sitting on the man's torso, trapping him between her legs, gently brushing his hair out of his terrified eyes. The wife is paralyzed with fear, sitting nearby, her blonde ponytail coming undone. She's too afraid to even scream. Her eyes dart from Ziva to her husband and back.

Ziva seems to enjoy her fear almost as much as she's going to enjoy this man's blood. She smiles, strokes the man's cheek with her long, cold fingers.

She is leaning down to bite his neck when Tony jumps on top of her, surprising her, and pulling her off of the young man. Her resulting shriek is so loud that it feels like she's ripped the forest air in two. Her eyes are even redder in anger, and all of that fury is directed straight at him.

"Run!" Tony yells at the man and the woman.

They don't need to hear it twice. The man gets up, drags his wife up off her feet, and hurries away down the path, their imprecise human feet noisy as they make their escape.

Ziva tries to go after them – she's so much faster, she could probably still catch them – but Tony is as strong as she is, and stubbornly remains on top of her, refusing to let her budge.

She has such demonic eyes; they send a chill down his spine. She tries to punch and kick and bite every bit of him that she can reach, but his new body doesn't feel much pain, and he holds her there with ease.

At last, they can't hear the human feet anymore. The couple has made it out of the forest alive. Ziva has lost her meal. He lets her go now, gets up and brushes the dirt and leaves from his shirt, barely breathing hard. But now it's Ziva's turn to surprise him and jump on him, her fingernails like claws digging into his shoulders.

"There were two of them. I could have had them both. How dare you?"

"They were innocent," he insists. "They didn't deserve to die."

"I am a _vampire_," she hisses. "I drink human blood. It is my instinct."

"Then you'll have to fight your instinct, Ziva," says Tony, pulling her hands off of him with difficulty and pushing her off. "You were human once. Don't you remember?"

She is in no mood to remember. Fangs bared, like daggers shooting out of her gums, she launches herself at him again, but this time he's ready – and they brawl.

Tony has found himself in such situations as a human – it's unavoidable if you're rather spirited and get goofy on alcohol – but it's entirely different, doing it with a vampire. Ziva's punches are iron blocks into his bones, her body weight cold instead of warm. He feels her breathing in his face, sees her pupils dilate as she releases her wrath in scratches all over his face and torso.

Still, Tony is a vampire too, so he gives her a hell of a fight back. He manages to throw her off and jump on her again, and they roll around the forest floor, like some bizarre Ferris wheel going around and around, alternating who is on top and who is on the bottom. They are two puzzle pieces locked into the contours of each other, fighting savagely for the upper hand.

When Ziva is on top for just a moment, she grins to herself and drops her entire body weight on him. She's much heavier than she looks, tiny thing that she is. Astonished, he finds himself pinned to the ground again, with Ziva staring down at him. Her pitiless red eyes inform him that she has won this round – and that she's going to enjoy her victory.

She lowers her mouth to his neck, intending to bite, intending to wound – but Tony's survival instinct is as fast as hers. He reaches up and bites her neck first, no fear, no hesitation. Her flesh is hard and icy; it gives him a brain-freeze, like he ate too much ice cream too quickly. She cries out into the near-silent woods, a silvery sound of pain, and then he lets go.

There are two dark puncture wounds on her neck now, but of course they drew no blood. She has no blood to give. She stops fighting him, her body limp, in shock. He gets up and brushes himself off, trying not to regret what he'd done because he knew she would have done the same to him if he hadn't acted. It's just that it's disconcerting for him to behold the vampire he has seen these past couple of days, moving around this forest as though it is her kingdom to keep, lying on the ground, absolutely silent.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly, offering a hand to pull her up.

She comes back to life, her eyes full of disdain. "Of course I'm okay," she snaps, rising to her feet by herself in one fluid motion. "What, you thought one bite would finish me?"

"I wasn't sure."

Her laugh is short, harsh. "You are so naïve."

"Well, you were just lying there!"

"I was surprised."

"Right. Okay."

Her eyes narrow, her death-glare back. "Why did you interfere with my kills?"

"I told you," says Tony. "I think it's wrong to kill humans for their blood."

"So don't do it. Eat animals. Why interfere with _my _kill?"

"I don't think you should do it either."

She raises an eyebrow.

He explains, "Look, they were two young hikers looking to spend a morning together. It wasn't fair to kill them just because you were hungry."

"You could extend the same logic on the animals that you eat, both as a human and as a vampire."

"You could," he allows. "But I'd rather kill an animal than a human."

"Is the human's life more sacred to you?"

"Yes. I don't think there's anything wrong with that."

"No. It's merely…convenient."

Now it's his turn to raise an eyebrow. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"I know you have these strange pro-human sentiments," says Ziva, "but as a vampire, the human does not amount to anything more than the animal. The human _is _an animal. Its blood is richer. It is what we are attracted to. The humans run rampant on this planet, killing and destroying everything in their paths. Nothing truly hunts them, nothing stops them. Vampires are simply a check on human existence. Hunters for the hunters."

"I still don't think it's fair," says Tony stubbornly. "The difference between me and the animals is that I can reason. So if I remember what it was like to be human, only a few days ago, I'm not going to kill my fellow kind."

She simply rolls her eyes, amused. "You must stop identifying with your kill, Tony DiNozzo."

"I don't want to, thanks," he quips, irritated. "Maybe you should take a leaf out of my book, and start identifying with _your_ kill. You need to stop hunting humans. What you're doing is wrong."

"Oh, is that the policeman in you talking?"

"Federal agent," he corrects her.

"So what exactly do you expect me to do, _federal agent_?" she asks, crossing her arms, staring him down. "Do you expect me to turn myself into the police, like some common mortal criminal? Give your other _agents _some answers? Let them toss me in a prison cell?"

"No," says Tony. "No…I'm only asking that you stop hunting humans. You don't have to turn yourself in."

"They are looking for me."

"They'll never find you and you know it," he says. "You'd be able to smell them from miles away. Look, leave the humans alone, stick with the animals, and after a few months…the case will go cold. They'll stop looking. And you can disappear."

"I am a vampire," she reminds him flatly. "Killing humans is in my nature."

"Like I said – resist," he tells her.

She can only shake her head. He doesn't understand, doesn't see that this is who she is, this is how she is wired, this is who she _must _be. He is soft, human-loving; he refuses to understand. She decides not to waste her breath on this subject anymore.

Then—

She smells it at almost the same moment he does. Both their heads come up, noses in the air, poised like eagles sensing the presence of an unsuspecting rabbit.

There is a deer nearby. A deer and her fawn. Tony's eyes lock on Ziva's, and their gazes are hungry.

Her smile sly, she asks him, "Do you want it? Since you so deeply oppose hunting humans?"

"We can share," he offers.

For a moment, there is some tension in her face – her mouth is tight, her fists closed – but the moment passes as fast as it comes and she grins. "Okay."

Together, they tear off after the deer – and in seconds, the animals are subdued, and Ziva takes a bite out of the fawn. She relishes the fawn, taking slow, deep sips out of its side, running her tongue along the small puncture wounds, tasting its wet, warm fur drenched in its blood. The kill is neat, clean, only her two puncture wounds and no extraneous blood left behind. She lays the corpse to the side, smacking her lips; though the fawn's blood is thinner and less satisfying than the humans she could have eaten today, the deer still does the trick, satiates her until her next hunt.

Tony is much less graceful, the blood gushing through the rather large bite marks he made, spilling to the ground and to his clothes, as he gorges himself on it. Ziva glances over and stifles a laugh; he is like a toddler learning to eat for the first time, making a mess.

She watches him as he finishes up the blood, lays the slightly mangled corpse beside the fawn. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and licks the streak of blood left behind.

"Aren't you going to eat its limbs like some sort of ghoulish cannibal?" he asks her, gesturing at the corpses.

She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling. "It isn't cannibalism if it's not my own kind."

"I don't know what else to call it. It's creepy. I thought vampires were only about blood."

"Generally, they are. But not me." She is especially pleased with this idea. She steps over to the deer, picks up her fawn and slings it over her shoulder.

"I have a tree I eat in. Don't want animals getting in the way," she says. At once, she's off, expecting him to follow her. And he does, gratefully, because at least it seems like she hates him a little less.

Her tree is a large, grand oak about a hundred yards away, its branches like a labyrinth into the clouds. She climbs up effortlessly, like some kind of squirrel, and he follows her to a set of branches near the top shaped a little like two seats across from each other.

She sits in one and he sits in the other, and she casually tears off the fawn's leg, begins peeling off the layers of fur, nibbling them as though they are strips of candy. Tony rubs his face with his hands, revolted and intrigued. Ziva merely laughs.

"You would be the runt of the pack," she remarks. "Small. Frightened. Weak stomach."

"I'm not small!" he objects.

"Yet you act like a child." Ziva tears off a strip of fur, holds it out to Tony. "Won't you try some?"

He shakes his head and looks away; she laughs again, a full-bellied laugh, maniacal but not entirely unfriendly. She eats the fur herself and keeps laughing, the bites of white and brown visible in her teeth.

"I have not laughed like this in so long," she remarks.

"Why, don't you ever talk to other vampires?"

"No, not anymore," she says. "We are few – and the few tend to be insufferable."

"So…you never talk to anyone?"

"No."

"That must be lonely," Tony observes.

Ziva shrugs. "This is the life of a vampire."

"So you guys don't form packs or anything?"

"No. We would fight over the kill."

"And you don't talk to the humans either?"

She sighs. "You are being a simpleton again. We do not speak to that which we eat."

"But…wouldn't you get bored? What do you do with your time?"

"I hunt. I travel." She takes a bite out of the leg. "Sometimes I wrestle with the animals. Occasionally, I sleep."

"And…that's it?"

"What else do you expect me to do?"

"You have eternal life, Ziva," says Tony. "Think about what you could contribute to society! You could…you could write histories! Accurate ones, for decades! You could research, cure disease! You could do good in the world!"

"Good for who? For humans?" She snorts, taking another vicious bite out of the fawn's leg. "They are small, pathetic creatures that enjoy killing each other far more than they enjoy 'doing good in the world.' They are not bothered. And besides, it is not for me to pry into the petty affairs of the creatures I hunt. You would not intervene on behalf of the cows and chickens, would you? They will all die soon anyway, by your hand."

"It's just, it's an empty existence, you know?" says Tony. "Maybe you could intervene with the humans. Help them out with the benefit of your experience."

She shakes her head. "You are deluded. In time, you will understand."

"Understand what?" His temper flares. "Look, Ziva, you could save people's lives. People who deserve to have their lives saved. You bit me when I was on the brink of death. Someone bit you once too. So you could do that for others. People who are sick, people who are in accidents. People who deserve more time here."

Now her temper flares, and it's far colder, far more dangerous, than his. "No. We do not do that," she says. "It is better never to be exposed to this life."

"Well, you exposed me to it."

She narrows her eyes. "And I am beginning to regret it."

"Why did you bite me, anyway? Why did you save me?"

Her exhale comes out in a menacing hiss.

"Tony, you ask too many questions. You are trespassing on my kindness as it is."

"Look, I didn't even know vampires existed until yesterday morning when I woke up as one. I want to know why you bit me, instead of just sucking my blood and eating my limbs."

She shoots him an irritated glare, but to his relief, she doesn't run away or attempt to hurt him. She admits, "I had never done it before."

"Done what, bitten a human?"

She nods, her expression purposefully blank, inscrutable. He knows to tread with caution.

"So…why me? Why was I your first bitten human?"

"Look," she says, fast and tense, "I have always had the ability to read humans. I think it is one of those traits that stayed me when I transitioned – like your empathy. So, when I kill, I know exactly whom I am killing. I know them better than they knew themselves. And most humans, they are worthless. Even the supposed 'good ones.' There is always something in them that nobody sees. But…I didn't find that in you. So I bit you hard enough to transform you, but not to kill you. It was instinct. And I didn't do you any favors." She pauses, looks to the sky, then back at her fawn leg. "I should have let you die."

He scarcely dares to breathe. "But…you didn't," he says, almost in a whisper.

"I didn't."

She finishes off the last of the fawn leg in three enormous bites, and tosses the bones to the ground, rips off the fawn's other leg. She peels the fur off again, leaving the muscle layer exposed, the job neater and cleaner than it would have been done even with Ducky's steady hand. Tony watches her nibble it down in precise, even bites, and he can't help but admire her elegance.

She notices him staring. "What?"

He jumps. "Nothing! It's just…"

"Just what?"

"You eat so…neatly."

She chuckles. "Years of practice. Don't worry. You will get there too, in time."

"Do you ever eat human food?"

"I tried a few times," says Ziva. "The natural things, fruits and vegetables and grain – they do nothing for me. They go straight through me. The rest of it – the pizzas, the cakes, all of those poisons laced with sugar – they make me ill. I cannot digest them."

"What about garlic?" he asks, grinning.

She snorts. "Garlic does nothing. I have taken jogs through California wildfires without so much as a scratch. Stakes do not bother me either. Nor, obviously, does sunlight. These myths are simply that – myths. Human nonsense."

"How long have you been a vampire?"

"Since…" She actually has to think about it. "Well, I was born in 1982. I was bitten when I was twenty in human years. That would make it 2002. Ten years ago."

"May I ask what happened?"

She appears uncomfortable, but after a few deep breaths and another bite of fawn leg, she says, almost matter-of-factly, "My sister and I were attacked by a vampire late one night. I was twenty and she was sixteen. He subdued us, and drank Tali's blood first. He killed her. Then he turned to me. He began to drink my blood, but there were noises around the corner. People were around. The vampire got scared and ran. I was pronounced dead. I was in the army back then; they gave me a hero's funeral. I was in the grave when I woke up, transformed as a vampire."

She gobbles up the rest of the fawn leg in one bite, bones and all.

Tony is speechless, unsure what to say. When he finally finds his voice, he says, "I'm sorry."

"It is all ancient history," she says flatly, ripping off the third fawn leg. "Nothing to be sorry about."

"Is your brother alive?"

"No. Not anymore. He was killed two months ago. It is the reason why I was in the area. He…did not handle my death or Tali's death well. He joined Mossad and pretended to be a mole – except that he wasn't. I was watching. I knew he was in trouble. And then he killed a woman – it was your Caitlin Todd. I saw him do it. And then your Agent Gibbs killed him. Shot him in his basement."

If Tony had had any blood in his body, it would have pounded ten times faster and rushed to his ears – in anger, in shock. He could hardly breathe for a moment.

"Your brother…was _Ari_?"

"Yes," she says simply.

"But…but…he was a monster!"

"I suppose it runs in the family." She gestures to herself, her maroon irises, the fawn leg in her lap, but she doesn't smile. Tony buries his face in his hands, the grief from Kate returning like an almighty tsunami over his body, almost as bad as the day she had died and nothing was the same again.

If he were still human, he would cry. He shakes, his body rocking like he's crying, but there are no tears to express his agony. He doesn't know why Ziva chose to tell him this; he doesn't know what changes, with the knowledge that the vampire who ruined his life is the sibling of the man who ruined Kate's life. Ziva looks up and watches him curiously, as though she has never witnessed anyone grieving before.

"You loved her?" she asks.

"She was my partner, my teammate," he says from behind his hands. "I trusted her with my life every single day."

"You did not answer the question."

He mulls it over for a few seconds, his tearless face emerging from his hands.

"Yeah, he says at last, his sigh shaky. "Yeah, I guess I did."

Not only is Ziva unaccustomed to speaking to a living creature, she is also unaccustomed to such displays of intense emotion. She is out of her depth entirely, unable to say or do anything to comfort this bizarrely expressive vampire who has stumbled into her life. She remembers how she has seen the humans do it, patting each other on the shoulder when they are upset.

"I'm sorry for your loss," she says.

He nods, but doesn't say anything. He fixes his gaze on the mutilated body of the fawn, trying to force the mood to pass. Ziva doesn't push it, doesn't say anything else. She watches him stare at the fawn, a strange wrinkling inside of her stomach.

She can't understand what it could be. She has eaten, so she isn't hungry. What she did eat would not make her sick. She and Tony had a bit of a brawl, but she isn't hurt. Yet there is something vaguely painful inside of her, getting tighter by the second. A pressure is building up behind her eyes. Her breathing is a little faster, a little shallower.

That's when she notices her physical symptoms seem similar to Tony's. Their breathing, for one. His hand is on his stomach too, suggesting he feels the same wrinkling. Yet, he has been crying. So what does that mean?

Is she…having _feelings_?

That can't be right. It can't possibly be right. She is a vampire; she has no feelings. None of this sentimental softness that humans wallow in. She is a cold monstrous creature, an anomaly of nature. She doesn't have _feelings._

Impatient, she tells herself to ignore the wrinkling – maybe the fawn fur isn't agreeing with her – and she offers Tony the last leg of fawn. Tony smirks wistfully, but shakes his head. Ziva shrugs and takes it for herself.

Tony watches her eat again, the steady rhythm of her processing this fawn leg. The tightness is subsiding; his words are coming back. So he asks her, "What did you do when you were a human?"

"Hmm?"

"You mentioned you were in the army," says Tony. "What did you do there? Did you have any other jobs?"

"I joined the army when I was eighteen," she says. "I was still in the army when I was bitten. No, I never did anything else."

"Did you ever want to?"

She smiles wryly at him, like he is a rambunctious child – which, in a way, he sort of is.

"You ask far too many questions, DiNozzo."

"But you're answering them."

"I'm not good at this," she admits.

"That's okay."

"Why are you here? Why are you still asking questions? Why don't you go run away to some country you've never been to and hunt?"

Tony sighs, runs a hand through his hair. "Well…it's all a bit overwhelming, being a vampire all of a sudden. But I got lucky; you were still here, which I now know is a rarity. And since you're here…I mean, I guess you're all I have right now, right?"

She goes quiet then, like he shot her in the heart with something sharp and she is still trying to discern how much damage was done. Something guarded yet soft and raw blooms in her eyes, loosens her tight mouth.

"You are an exceedingly strange vampire, Tony," she says. But she doesn't say it meanly; she states it as a simple fact, as the truth.

He finds himself smiling. "I suppose I am. Kind of like you."

She takes a bite of her fawn leg. "So. Tell me about your Agent Gibbs, and this job you miss so much."

That's all the bait he needs. He starts talking, and he can't stop. He misses the team and his job more than he knows how to say. He tells Ziva all about Gibbs and his history, the three ex-wives, the wood-working in the basement, the head-slaps and the mind-reading and the coffee addiction. He tells her about McGee, the probie, who has grown so much in just two years – but is still an awkward geek. He tells her about Abby, with whom she would probably get along – her love of vampires and the supernatural, her caffeine and her coffin. Ziva laughs aloud at that one. And then he tells her about Kate, the one they had lost. They had always known that was the risk they took everyday, yet when it happened, it was a shock, it was unfair, it wasn't right. He tells her about how Kate used to tease him, how he teased her back, about the wet t-shirt contest and the time he got the plague.

All the stories come pouring out of him. The team is his family, far more than his father ever was. There's no point going back to those childhood days. The important times are the times he spent with NCIS over the years. The times he spent with Gibbs and McGee and Kate.

He talks and talks, and Ziva just listens. The stories themselves are fascinating, portraits of human life that she has long forgotten about – pranks at the office, long days and laughter. Worthless as humans are, they do have enormous affection for some of their kind, and Tony's team most certainly did.

But what affects her more than the stories is the way Tony tells them. Animated, like there is light and life behind his pale cold flesh. He hasn't been so alive since he transformed. He tells her about their cases, about the time he and Kate went undercover together, and she is intrigued by his passion. It's something she hasn't felt in a long, long time. Not since she was transformed.

As he talks, the wrinkling returns, but it's not so painful this time. She laughs genuinely as he tells her things, and the wrinkling is like butterflies fluttering around inside of her. She is smiling more this afternoon than she has smiled in all her time as a vampire.

She doesn't know what this is. She doesn't know this creature sitting with Tony and grinning away like an idiot. This is so new to her. She finds herself out of her depth again, as though he is teaching her something about life rather than the other way around. Which is weird because he's the newly changed one and she's the long-suffering veteran.

Finally, as late afternoon falls, and the sun sinks lower in the sky, the stories peter out. He seems a bit tired, but beaming. His smile is wide, sweet, resembling the smile on a child's face that makes passerby stop to squeal. So, objectively, his smile could be considered "cute." He rests his head back against the tree branch, and catches in his fist a bird that happens to be flying by. Birds are mealy, not much in them, but he sucks up what is there and rests it aside, with the bones of the fawn Ziva finished off entirely about an hour ago. They sit like this in contented silence for a while, enjoying the warmth of the quickly approaching evening. The leaves smell sweeter at this time of day.

And as they sit there, Ziva finds herself drawn to Tony. Kind of attracted to him. It's less sentimental and more chemical – purely animalistic. They are, after all, the only two of their kind in the vicinity – alone, isolated.

Ziva had had doubts about sticking around with him, listening to his blather and answering his endless list of questions, but now she is glad she did. She hadn't realized how much she had missed interacting with something that could talk back.

She had been right about Tony. There was something in him that made her not want to kill him. Maybe she hadn't made a mistake after all, transforming him. In any case, if she'd had to bite anyone, she regrets biting him least.

The dying light falls in golden sheets on his face, illuminating the shapes and contours of his features, casting a strange glow over his eyes, as red as hers. He's looking at her, his smile soft. There is some sort of lazy intensity in the air between them, not disturbing their peace but keeping them alert, electrified – waiting.

Ziva runs her hand through her wild curls, her eyes never leaving his. Her curiosity is building. She leans in a little closer to Tony, and asks him, "Can I try something?"

His curiosity is building too. "Okay," he says.

He thinks he knows what she's going to do before she does it, but he doesn't dare let on. If he does, he'll scare her away, and he actually wants her to try this. He wants to see if she'll follow through.

Cat-like, she negotiates through the branches between their respective seats, and settles on the branches beside him. She is close enough that he can smell the leftover fawn blood on her lips. She is so cold; her closeness only makes it colder, rather than warmer. Her pupils dilate, the black overtaking the red. If his heart could beat, it would beat at hazardous speeds in anticipation.

She leans in, slowly, slowly. She's never done this before; the unknown dangerousness of it is a little bit thrilling. Slowly, slowly, she gets in even closer. The tips of their noses touch. He is statue still, holding his breath, lips loose, parted slightly, waiting for her.

She holds onto a branch somewhere above his head and closes the distance. She kisses him.

At first, it's neither here nor there. Two pairs of cold lips touching, sending ice through the other. But as she settles tentatively into the kiss, and he kisses her back, they feel their lips tingle; they feel a small bubble of pleasure forming somewhere dark inside their guts.

The bubble grows and grows with the kiss, then finally bursts. A bolt of lightning goes down their spines. She kisses him harder, wanting more of that feeling. She's never experienced anything like it. She feels no overwhelming sense of love or closeness; the pleasure is different, muted, as though they have both obtained a tough kill and are now reaping their rewards. He tastes like blood and marble. He nips at his lower lip, his tongue finding its way into her mouth, around those dagger-like teeth that have brought on the end of so many lives. She bites hard on his lower lip, tasting the hard saltiness of his flesh.

He puts his hand to her waist and navigates her down to his lap. But as the kiss builds up even more intensity, when his hand finds her rear end, that's when she snaps back to her senses. That's when she realizes that this chemical reaction inside of her is unfavorable.

She pulls away and leaps back to the branches she had been sitting on across from him, her eyes wide with horror.

Even now, maybe they could have recovered from this situation. Maybe they could have pretended this out-of-character, ridiculously human gesture had not occurred, and moved on like they had been, talking, arguing, brawling.

But there's this look in Tony's eye. Ziva knows that look. The one of hurt, disappointment. Where she felt no intimacy, merely a physical desire giving her gratification, she had forgotten for a moment that he is not like her. He does feel intimacy. He does feel closeness. He feels attraction. And now, he's feeling it for her.

He opens his mouth to say something, but she knows she doesn't want to hear it. The wrinkling in her stomach is back, like balled-up paper, all random sharp edges. An icy fire flares in her stomach.

This is why she doesn't associate with vampires. This is why she doesn't speak to anyone. It only ever leads to trouble.

"Ziva, wait—" he begins, but she is having none of it.

Before his mouth can close and begin forming another word, Ziva is gone, running like a flash of blurred light down the tree and across the forest floor.

She's going for a good long run, maybe around the entirety of the state, fast enough that she isn't thinking about anything, fast enough that maybe she could walk on water and flee across the ocean, to another continent, where there is no human-loving Tony DiNozzo trailing after her.

Ziva David is a vampire. A monster. None of this is right. Her fury breaks, and she runs even faster. She can barely see where she's going, what she's running into, who can see her. She doesn't care. She just has to get away from here.

* * *

A/N: So, that was that. I hope you guys liked it! Please remember to leave a review before you go.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: You guys are awesome. Thanks for being so supportive. I'd been afraid, at first, that no one would want to read something like this. It's out-there, certainly, and it's been done before with varying degrees of success, so of course I was nervous. But you guys are awesome. Thanks for giving me a chance.

**This scene may be a bit intense for the T rating, so I kicked it up to M. I was going to do that anyway, because of the way the finale is going to go, so I simply did it early. This chapter, some…sensual…stuff is coming your way. You've been warned.**

Enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter IV**

* * *

Ziva is gone, speeding through the forest, leaving a trail of rumpled and slightly smoking leaves behind – and Tony can only sit dazed in the tree for several long seconds, gently brushing the tingling spot on his lips with his fingers, trying to work out what just happened.

He kissed her. He kissed Ziva.

He can't believe he kissed Ziva.

She's a vampire, for one thing. He can now officially say that he has kissed a vampire – something he is confident no other creature on Earth, human or otherwise, can lay claim to.

Also – she was the one who initiated it. He sat stock-still, let her come to him, and she, the vampire incapable of human emotion or empathy, was the one who leaned in, took the first taste. He, the apparently sentimental vampire, only kissed her back. This turn of events, he would never have predicted.

And, finally, he is surprised that he obliged at all. Tony had a reputation as a human for always bedding the most attractive girl who would have him (and many extremely attractive girls did), but lately, he had been off his game. He hadn't gone out much. Not since Kate died. He went out to a few bars, flirted with some very beautiful women, but he never had the strength to close the deal. He would down a few drinks and go home. He was just never in the mood anymore.

So it's strange to him, that after only a few hours of knowing her – and these mostly spent watching her eat human and animal body parts – he has kissed her, and found himself attracted to her, wanting to do even more than that.

He knows he can't – he's a vampire, no bodily fluids available – yet he wants to. The part of his brain that yearns for intimacy in a lonely, stressful situation pushes him to her, the only one who could understand.

And it's not only circumstance; for some reason, he actually likes _her_. The way she gracefully, but mercilessly, devours meat. The way she reluctantly, honestly, told him the story of how she got bitten. The way she smiles at him like she's got a secret; the way she wanted to kiss him first. No, he doesn't know her quite yet, and there are more than a few aspects of her lifestyle that he finds disturbing, but he finds he wants to get to know her. Despite her monstrousness, she's different when she opens up. And this has him intrigued – hooked.

And now she's gone.

It's an ironic turn of events. Usually, at the first sign of intimacy, he is the one that bolts. This time, though, she's the one who left, and he is the one left behind, mulling it over, wondering what to do next.

* * *

Ziva spends the night running.

She hasn't done this in years. She used to do it a lot when she first turned, when the nights were too long and it didn't matter where she went. She ran and ran and ran, hundreds of miles a night, until the eventual fatigue or the shortness of breath or simply the boredom wore her out, and even her new body demanded a rest. It was oddly calming, pushing the limits of her vampirism. As a human, too, her physicality was her outlet – the impossible work-outs, vicious fights, and long sweaty runs helped her find herself.

The afternoon turns into twilight, which turns into night. The temperature drops, but of course her already-cold, hard flesh feels nothing. She keeps running, through fields and wild grasses and empty streets. She is a blur, a rustle of wind, gone too quickly to be recognized as what she is. She runs too fast for her feet to make a sound. She can't even break a sweat, feel her heart pulse. An eerie quietness engulfs her, like she is the only one alive in this moment, and just barely at that. It makes her run even faster.

She covers the state of Virginia, and takes a few rounds through cities in neighboring states. She pushes herself to speeds she has not yet attempted. She runs through the night and the dawn, and slows down as day breaks in earnest, outwardly unruffled but inwardly in turmoil.

Her muscles feel some of the strain of the night's marathon, but the wrinkling in her stomach has only gotten worse, if anything. It needs to be assuaged, and refuses to be silenced by her stubborn denial.

Infuriated, she runs to the Appalachians, takes out her frenzied energy on a host of animals. She blitzkriegs them before they even realize they have company. She kills anything and everything she sees of substantive size. She sucks some of the blood, gorges herself on it, as though it is an antidote, but her midsection remains knotted, twisted.

She finds a lone black bear along the trail, and purposely provokes it into anger nearly as feverish as her own. It lunges for her. She lets it grab her, lets it try to bite her and rip her to shreds, but it has trouble with her vampire body and Ziva is merely frustrated.

She savagely wrestles the bear, makes it groan loudly through the mountain air, and lets it put up a good fight. The challenge is a brutal pleasure. But then she and the bear roll down a particularly steep portion of the mountain, and the bear hits a tree at breakneck speed, and lies still. She bites into its neck to make sure it is dead, and drains the enormous creature of its blood. She wipes her mouth when she is done, gazes around the surreal beauty of the mountaintop.

Once, the view and the sport found among the trees would have been enough to amuse her for a few days, maybe a few weeks. Now, there is nothing for her here.

She considers running farther, maybe going west, trying her hand in Nevada, or California. But she isn't in the mood.

It's getting close to noon when she finally decides to return to Virginia, to the forest where she knows Tony will still be.

It's futile, running away. Ziva has too much time, and not enough to do with it. She can hear Tony's remarks in her head now, asking her why she doesn't do something good for human-kind instead of killing time, wandering, fighting with the animals. He would like that, wouldn't he, if she reduced herself to helping the two-legged cretins?

She won't do that. She knows she won't do that. But she remembers him telling her, and she remembers how earnestly he meant it, and she smiles a little to herself – pitying, but a little affectionate.

He was right about being bored, though. She has too few distractions out here. So when one like this comes along, a challenge far greater than one a mere black bear would give, she knows she'll go back. She feeds on the purposefulness of challenge even more than she feeds on blood.

So she admits defeat. Under the heat of the afternoon sun, she runs back to Virginia. She runs back to Tony.

* * *

Tony is in the midst of a subdued meal of deer blood, the loneliness insistently gnawing at his brain, when he hears the crunch of leaves behind him.

He turns at once, his defenses on the alert – but it's Ziva. Her hair is wild, flying out around her head, bits of twig and leaf and branch caught in the curls. Her red eyes gleam, even brighter than the sunlight. She has a heady do-me smirk playing on her lips. He can't help but beam with relief at the sight of her.

"Hey," he says softly.

"Hello." She practically purrs the word, approaching him slowly, carefully, one foot at a time. She comes right up against him, her cold hands on his chest, snaking their way to his face. An instant bolt of lust electrifies his bones. She feels his involuntary shiver reverberate in her, and her grin only widens, as her eyes shamelessly rake his body – his lips, his throat, the curve of his neck, the bulge in his pants.

Vampires are not sensual creatures. Over the years, Ziva has never even felt a need to socialize, let alone a need to engage in sex. Yet the foreign instinct takes her over, a smooth and silent coup in her brain meeting little resistance, and she rides the powerful, restless river of chemical impulse coursing through her. The seductress of the old army days emerges, swathed in these newer vampiric dressings, looking at him the way she did when she wanted to drive men to madness with longing.

And the way he's looking back at her, taking a visual tour of her curves, her marble skin, her exquisite features, she knows it's working.

She comes in so close that the tips of their noses touch, and her breath is an Arctic breeze against his face, daring him to move in closer, try to find the warmth that long left her human body. And he's helpless to her, as she knew he would be.

This time, he leans in, and kisses her first.

Unlike their previous kiss, which took some time to build, this one takes effect at once. The tingling returns, and a new kind of wrinkle wads up their stomachs like bits of putty in an iron fist. It is a fiery ache, one of the body attempting to expulse something acidic and toxic – a bit like the time Ziva tried to eat pizza a few days after turning – yet there is such glorious sweetness in the pain that she drinks it up, unwilling to pull away.

The iciest fire, from the loneliest, coldest corner of the universe, engulfs them. It stabs their flesh like icicle daggers; it's too unbelievably cold. The sun-warmed dirt beneath his back has more warmth than either of them do. A more monstrous union can not be imagined – two bloodsucking violations of nature, coming together against even their twisted natures – yet she holds him against her with unyielding hands, his every contour rubbing against hers. And he is a match for her breathtaking strength, digging his fingernails into her hips, the valley of her waist.

Of course, they cannot consummate this, not in the human sense of the term. But it doesn't matter. The act of kissing her, feeling her closeness, reminds Tony that he isn't the only confused, forlorn monster in this world. He has Ziva. They fall to their knees, and then to their backs on the ground. Ziva gets on top of him, her kiss ragged and fierce, grinding her hips against his. He groans with the intensity of it, the blazing crystalline detail of his senses washing over him like a tidal wave.

Ziva peels off Tony's clothes with the deadly precision she uses to peel clean layers of flesh off of her kill. He is less graceful; he merely rips the garments off of her, tearing them in places, flinging them away at random. The place is so quiet; even the birds appear to be keeping their distance, their twittering absent from the usual forest song. In fact, the only sounds are the ones they make – the crunch of leaves he rolls on, the soft sounds of their kisses, the rustle of their clothes being discarded.

Ziva has never had occasion to be touched this way, not with her enhanced vampire senses, so it is ecstasy, allowing his hands and then his mouth wander the exotic terrain of her body. Every nerve ending fires a symphony into her every cell. Her muscles are tensed and primed, yet the rest of her is strangely relaxed, lost in the decadence of his movements. His lips find her most sensitive skin, and her back arches up, an unearthly sound flying out of her throat and shattering the serene forest air.

She rolls on top of him, roughly holding his hair back, taking in his clear red eyes, his dilated pupils. His eyes are almost exactly like hers, except there is a light and a shine in them that has never been in hers.

As much as what they are doing ignites her senses, she can see that it ignites his very soul. He feels it, truly _feels _it, and she almost envies him this. Whatever her cheap, fleeing, physical pleasure, his is real.

She kisses the corner of his mouth, and lowers her lips to his neck, to the two puncture wounds she had made that changed his life forever. She sighs and presses her mouth to them, feeling their indentation with her tongue. She feels his measured exhale, and the tension in it, as the muscles move beneath her lips.

And then she bites him again. She sinks her fangs into those two little holes. They give against her teeth, and she bites down harder, harder. This time, of course, there is no blood. There is no pain. Bitterness wells up inside of her; it tastes strange. If she were human, maybe she would call it regret.

In any case, she extracts her fangs from his neck, and lies beside him on that sun-warmed forest ground.

If their hearts could beat, they would race in time with each other, as they stare at the sky, chests rising and falling, attempting to absorb the magnitude of what they have just done.

* * *

They lie still together for hours, not speaking, not moving. The sunset unfolds before them in all its chaotic, colorful glory, and the star-littered navy night slowly replaces it, reminding them that for the rest of the animal kingdom, time marches relentlessly forward, and the creatures of Earth have seen another day pass them by, bringing them ever closer to their respective ends.

Tony and Ziva have no end in sight. They have all the time in the world together, eternity theirs for the taking. But as the navy sky turns black, and night falls in earnest, Ziva sits up, silently searches for her clothes, slips them back on. They have stretched and now bear holes, battle scars of their lust a few hours ago. Strips of her bloodless skin show, inexplicably sexual. He half-grins at these peep-shows of skin, the way her hair is somehow even more unruly than it was when she first ran back to see him.

Ziva hands Tony his own clothes and he slips them on too. She watches, her eyes like laser beams in the dark. He lays back down when he's dressed, and she lays back down beside him, their shoulders touching, their arms casually interlacing.

"I think it's time to move," she murmurs into the night.

He doesn't say anything.

She presses on, "The animals are dying. Your investigation is continuing. I think your team is setting up to canvas here tomorrow."

"So what?"

"So I have to go."

"Can I come with you?"

She knew he would ask. She knew. But her stomach wrinkles up in that way it has anyway, like it's somehow surprised.

"I don't know," she says. "Can you, knowing your team is here?"

He considers that. "Guess not."

They both go quiet again.

Then—

"You could stay here too, Ziva."

She shakes her head. "No. I couldn't."

"You could."

"It is not in my nature."

"It's technically not in mine either."

"It comes easier for you."

"It could for you too."

She just sighs. "You are so naïve."

He leans into her, kisses her sweetly, chastely on the cheek, and rests his forehead against her jaw.

"You were human once too," he whispers. "Try to remember."

She closes her eyes; her world goes dark. And, for the first time in ten years, she does. She really tries to remember.

But of course nothing comes.

* * *

Somehow, Tony and Ziva manage to sleep for the entire night.

In all the time she has been a vampire, Ziva has never slept for more than four continuous hours – and those times were only after intense, several-week-long periods of little to no rest, and high activity.

Yet here, beside Tony, her body relaxes. Her systems rest. She awakens more alive than she has felt since the first time she turned. She could run across the entire contiguous United States today, if she wanted.

She turns to find Tony, but he isn't there. He returns a few minutes later, carrying two deer on his shoulder. He smiles a smile too lovely for the redness of his eyes, the sharpness of his fangs.

"Good, you're up." He tosses her a deer. "Have some breakfast."

"Thank you." She accepts the deer with a smile of her own, though rougher and shyer than his, and digs in. To spare his delicate stomach, she sticks to only blood today, and makes a point of setting the deer carcass aside.

He laughs, and says, "It's okay if you want to eat the whole thing."

She opens her mouth wide over the side of the deer, like she's going in for a big bite, and immediately he flinches, buries his face in his hands. She snorts and pushes the deer away. Though he makes no further comment, she can tell he is grateful.

It is after breakfast that their reckoning comes.

They sit on the ground, sucking up the last of their deer blood, sitting in the shade of the trees and talking about nothing in particular. The day is warm and sunny, the light reflecting off the leaves, making the forest feel vast and layered and richly green.

They are so absorbed in what they are doing that neither of them pay particular attention to the sounds beginning to broach their corner of the forest. These crunchy sounds of movement occur all the time – they assume it's some sort of cautious animal wandering the woods – so they pay no attention. But in a matter of minutes, a sturdy man in his fifties, wearing standard-issue NCIS gear, appears into their clearing.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs. On a long shot, a desperate whim, he has entered this forest looking for his missing agent, and he has stumbled upon Tony and Ziva's location.

His steely eyes go wide and his gun comes right out at the sight of two creatures who, on first glance, look like no human he has ever seen.

Tony recognizes him instantly, shock and admiration and relief flashing across his features. Automatically, he is up and standing, and Ziva is beside him – Ziva, primed in combat position, Tony, disarmed completely.

"Boss!" he exclaims. "Boss, it's me, Tony!"

Gibbs slowly lowers his gun, his expression suspicious. "DiNozzo?" he asks uncertainly, taking in the red eyes, the increased muscle, the fangs visible in his open mouth.

"Yeah, boss, it's me. I'm alive. In a manner of speaking." Tony cautiously approaches his boss, willing him to see his senior field agent behind the vampiric façade.

"DiNozzo, what the hell happened?" Gibbs demands, his voice strained. There are shadows beneath his eyes, the lines of his face seeming deeper than usual; clearly, he has not slept much in the past few days. "You went AWOL. No phone. Car gone. No one knew where you were. You were here for the crime scene, weren't you? It was a breach of protocol. It was utterly irresponsible."

"I know, boss. I'm sorry."

"You better be damn sorry," Gibbs snaps, though the concern is just visible in his eyes. He marches right up to Tony and smacks him on the back of the head. Ziva blanches from behind him. The gesture doesn't faze him anymore, but it's so blissfully familiar that he just grins.

"I missed you, boss," says Tony.

"Then why didn't you come back to the office?" asks Gibbs.

"I, uh…it's been a weird few days," admits Tony.

"I see that. You been on some work-out regimen I need to know about?" Gibbs peers at Tony's new bicep muscles, bulging in the sunlight.

"No, boss, it's kind of complicated…" He bites his lip, trying to figure out how to explain the last few days in terms an unsuspecting human would understand. "See…I came here, right? And I was looking around for evidence. But then this coyote comes out of nowhere, and it seems bent on taking me as its dinner. I thought that was it, I was done for. But…but actually, she saved my life." Tony gestures behind him. "That's Ziva, boss. She saved my life."

Gibbs fixes his gaze on Ziva, taking in the similar red eyes, visible fangs, obvious muscle. He narrows his eyes, gives her a long look, but ultimately nods his approval.

"Thanks," he says gruffly.

Ziva doesn't say anything.

"But…there's more to the story," continues Tony, obviously uncomfortable. "See…Ziva isn't your typical savior-of-the-forest. She's…well, she's kind of a vampire."

"_Kind of a vampire_?" Gibbs raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, she's fully a vampire," says Tony. "She's a vampire – she's the real thing, sucks blood and everything – and when she saved me, she bit me. And she…she turned me into one too. Into a vampire. That's why I couldn't come to find you. I'm…a vampire."

Gibbs raises his eyebrows even further; they are in danger of disappearing into his hairline.

"I think you hit your head a little too hard during the coyote attack," says Gibbs. "C'mon. Ducky can take a look at you."

"No, boss, I'm serious," says Tony. "I'm actually a vampire. So is she. Ziva. She's a vampire too. She was a vampire before me. Boss, she's the one that went on the killing spree with all the victims. You remember the bite marks? How they didn't have any blood left in them? How Abby couldn't find any human DNA on the scene? It's because Ziva did it. Ziva drank their blood. Ziva is a vampire."

The only part of this speech that Gibbs appears to understand is the part about Ziva being the serial killer he has spent the better part of two and a half weeks trying to catch. He pushes Tony aside, advances on her at once with his gun.

"Ziva, or whoever you are – hands up. You're under arrest," he tells her.

She snorts. "Of course I am."

"I'm serious. Hands up, or I shoot."

She just shakes her head, amused. Gibbs, obviously irritated by her lack of intimidation, does shoot her. He shoots several bullets at her – but she merely catches them in her palm, like they are nothing more than toys flicked at her by a mischievous child. She sniffs the tiny pellets, runs her tongue over one of the bullets. It's been a while since she got to handle bullets.

Gibbs keeps shooting, empties out his round. But the ones that miss whiz past her, and she catches the ones that would have hit her. She collects them in a neat little pile, calm as anything, intrigued by the shape, the groove of the objects intended to kill her.

"Boss…those won't work on a vampire," Tony tells Gibbs. "Believe me now?"

It's evident that Gibbs is shaken by Ziva's reaction to the bullets, and he is struggling to believe DiNozzo. His expression is quizzical – knitted brows, squinting eyes, slightly open mouth. Ziva throws the pile of bullets into the air, lets them fall in a cascade to the ground, get blown away by the wind, as though they are nothing more than autumn leaves. She fixes Gibbs with her red-eyed stare, daring him to try to kill her again. Gibbs looks back to Tony, the befuddlement even more pronounced.

Then, at last, he says, "Let's get out of here, DiNozzo. We'll talk at the station. We have to tell everyone you're alive; that's the first priority."

"But, boss—"

"Look, if you really have a…a _condition_—" he says the word with extreme distaste "—then we'll sort it out amongst ourselves. It can be our little secret. But you've got to come to NCIS with me, now."

And Tony wants to, more than anything. It's what he's dreamt of since he first got transformed. He wants to go back to his job and his team. It's where he knows he belongs; it's home. Yet looking back at Ziva, at the vampire he spent the better part of yesterday kissing to oblivion…something in him can't quite budge. Something in him cannot quite leave her here.

He turns and walks towards her, eyes smoldering, pleading. "Ziva, come back with us."

"I am not about to be prosecuted in a human court for a supposed crime," says Ziva flatly.

"We won't prosecute. Just come back with us."

"DiNozzo?" Gibbs is already beginning to walk back out of the forest; he gestures impatiently with his hand, gestures for DiNozzo to get going already.

For Gibbs, the situation is easy – Tony is alive and must be brought home. But Tony says, "In a second, boss," and keeps his eyes directly on Ziva's. Red on red.

"Come back with us," he says again.

She seems to consider it. Hesitation is clear in the way she pauses, takes a breath, looks briefly to the sky.

But when she looks back at him, he can tell her mind is made up now. Her gaze is gentle, but firm. She says, "Tony, it is too late for me. I cannot go with you. You are meant for the humans; it's like nothing ever changed for you. Go with Agent Gibbs."

"It's not too late, Ziva," he tries to tell her, but she shakes her head.

"Go with Agent Gibbs."

"Ziva—"

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs is really getting impatient now; he's forty yards away, gesturing wildly, expression disgruntled, irritated – endearingly familiar.

Tony feels the panic flaring. His old life and his new life, gesturing to him from two opposite poles. Truly, he doesn't know where to go. Wildly, he looks from Gibbs to Ziva and back again, unsure whom he has to leave behind.

Ziva smiles slightly. "Go," she says, and pushes him towards Gibbs. Being Ziva, her push makes him stumble half the distance towards Gibbs, who takes this as confirmation that Tony is coming. He begins to walk out, his human footsteps – once, so silent that he could sneak up on Tony in the bull-pen and routinely embarrass him – are obvious. They are, of course, more graceful than most human gaits, but the shock factor is gone. He hears every contact his boss's shoe makes with the ground in each step.

He looks once more to Ziva, still pleading. But Ziva keeps shaking her head, mouthing at him to go.

Gibbs is getting farther and farther away. There's no more time. He has to choose; he has to go.

"Please?" he asks her, one final time.

But she is resolute. "Good-bye."

She stays a split-second longer to see him off, catch one last glimpse of him to last her through the rest of time – and then she's off running again. Gone before he can even blink.

Tony follows Gibbs out of the forest and into the waiting NCIS van.

* * *

A/N: There's still one more chapter. I'll get it done ASAP. But you have to review this one first, guys. I'm eager to know what you think.

In case you were wondering – yes, the vampire sex was very awkward to write. I hope it turned out okay.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: So…this ending. I'm so, so, so, SO sorry I took so long to update it. I never forgot about you guys. Life just gets a little mad sometimes.

Now, you might hate me a little bit for the way I've finished this. I understand completely; I hate myself a little bit too. Believe me, I really did try to do something else. I outlined about four different ending scenarios. But this is the one that made the most sense with the plot and the characters. And when a story wants to go a certain way, it is my job to stop fighting and listen.

**I'm warning you now – the chapter is a bit upsetting. There is some intense stuff ahead. On Tumblr, they call this a trigger warning. So if you can't handle violence/death, then please don't read on. You've been warned.**

Also, random: we're pretending this happened instead of S3 for the sake of timeline, so Vance is not present here. It's not a mistake. Just so you know.

So, this is the finale. I hope you guys like it; I hope I did you proud. Cheers. xx

* * *

**Chapter V**

* * *

For the first ten minutes of the ride home, Gibbs is on his cell phone, speeding through traffic to a chorus of car horns and calling each member of the team personally, to let them know that Tony is safe. Abby first (mostly likely, she had worried the most), then McGee, then Ducky. He then calls Director Shepard, tells her the news too. When he is finally finished with the calls, he lapses into his usual silence, his driving slightly less manic but still dangerous enough that Tony winces at every reckless turn.

The quiet of the car leaves him plenty of time to think.

After so many days of living in the forest, spending all of his time with Ziva, isolated and insulated from the world, it is harsh and strange being in the van and rushing back to his building, surrounded by soft, tantalizing humans, the structures of civilization looming over him. He had almost forgotten there was this sprawling metropolis so near his little forest in Norfolk. He never thought he would have been allowed back.

Tony and Gibbs go upstairs to the office, where Tony has worked all these years, and everything is so miraculously the same. McGee, Ducky and Abby are waiting for him when he arrives; Abby launches herself at him first, her arms around his neck, giving him such a tight hug that in human form, he likely would have fallen over, winded. As it is, he stands firm as Abby hugs him to her heart's content, repeating over and over, "I'm so glad you're all right, Tony, we've missed you."

He physically pries Abby off his person to hug Ducky, and then McGee. It's like hugging fragile plush toys; their bones seem so easy to snap, covered only with a few layers of softness. The fact that he notices this puts him a little on edge. He is pleased to see them, of course he is, but he remembers now why vampires don't even want to mix with humans. They are so different. His entire make-up has changed, and he doesn't know if he can still fit in this human labyrinth.

"Tony, what's going on here?" Abby asks, grinning, poking his arm. "Where've you been and what have you been doing to get biceps like that? I swear, it's like you're all muscle!"

"Yeah, I noticed that too," says McGee. "And what's with your eyes, Tony? Did you get hurt?"

"My goodness, Tony, you're freezing," says Ducky. "Are you sure you're quite all right?"

Tony sighs. They'll have to find out sooner or later; might as well just tell them now. "Well, about that…"

* * *

Ducky is flabbergasted. McGee thinks he's joking. Abby is horrified but also intrigued, as Tony knew she would be. The side of her that puts all her faith in science refuses to believe that Tony is an actual _vampire_. Those don't exist. Yet the side of her that loves the supernatural is over the moon with curiosity.

Tony allows Ducky to give him a preliminary check-over, to make sure he is healthy, but then Abby drags Tony to her lab where, for the better part of three days, she runs every test she can think of on him, and bombards him with an avalanche of questions.

It's just as well, since he doesn't have any work to do. Gibbs isn't putting him in the field yet. He is still talking to the director, trying to figure out what to do with his senior field agent.

So Tony hangs out mostly in Abby's lab, as she fights to understand the science behind his condition.

She shows him a virtual version of his DNA, which is almost the same as his regular DNA – hence why he remains the same person – but there is an extra set of genes inserted into his fifth chromosome, and it is these that have changed him.

Abby analyzes his vampire venom – which initially blows up her mass spectrometer, causes a chemical fire in the lab, puts the whole building on lockdown and takes several hours to subside – and tests its properties in every non-mechanical way she knows. There are moments when she is quiet, preternaturally focused, and others when she is her usual chattering, distractible self. She slurps down double her usual intake of Caff-Pow and surrounds herself with charts and print-outs and notes, all of which are unintelligible to Tony.

After several experiments – some of which cause more fires – Abby determines that the vampire venom contains, among other things, a special type of virus, which gets into Tony's DNA and inserts the new vampire DNA. The genes are regulated by the venom itself, which still remains in Tony's system. Any more of it, and it would overwhelm his human immune system, which would turn on itself and kill him. This explains why Ziva knows to bite a certain amount when killing, or transforming, her victims.

When she's done with her tests, she asks him if she can write a paper on him. He immediately tells her not to; this is going to be their secret. No one else can know about the existence of vampires. It cannot be good for anyone. While disappointed, Abby nods, understanding.

Once she has finished with her preliminary tests on Tony, Gibbs comes down to the lab – as usual, his timing eerie, even for a vampire. He tells Tony he has some news.

Director Shepard and Gibbs had thought long and hard about what to do with Tony. Director Shepard has clearance from Abby that Tony is otherwise healthy, and won't bite every human in sight. Gibbs vouches that personality-wise, Tony is the same – and skill-wise, he's actually even better. Director Shepard takes some time to weigh her options, but ultimately signs off.

Tony can remain an NCIS agent – so long as he never lets on his secret, and pretends he is human.

While nervous, now, of attempting his old job in a new body, Tony is relieved. It is more than he had hoped for. Despite the nightmare of the bite, Tony gets his job, his team, his life back. Everything he thought he had lost. He is pleased, and excited, and more than willing to abide by the director's rules.

So the new regime begins.

At night, Tony sleeps little, preferring to hunt. In the morning before work, he slips in colored contacts – Abby helps him find contacts that won't dull his vision with human eye prescriptions – so that his irises are hazel again rather than red. He files his fangs down to human-sized teeth; they keep growing every night, as though not understanding why he wouldn't use his main weapon, but he is careful to ensure they are as normal-looking as possible. He puts on his gear and runs to work; he sells his car, figuring he's faster without it.

Once at work, his duties remain the same, but they become easier. He finds evidence at the scene more quickly than his teammates, spotting or sniffing it out; Gibbs can no longer surprise him when he sails into the bull-pen with news or another case; dirt-bags barely have a chance to turn and run before Tony is in front of them, waiting to cuff them and take them in.

The weeks and months drag on. It is certainly wonderful to be back in the routine of work – it's even better than it used to be, because now he doesn't need to sleep as much, nor does he need coffee to wake himself up in the mornings – and he enjoys the breakneck rhythm of investigative work, same as always.

But of course, there's still something niggling at him.

It's Ziva. Ziva, whom he hasn't seen since the day she ran, and he returned here.

He has only known her a few days, in comparison to the team, whom he has known for many years. Yet he has been so intimate with her the past few days as the unthinkable happened to him, and he misses her. He misses their tryst in the forest, all their talking. He misses her coldness and her firmness. He misses the lazy pace of the forest, where his only responsibility was hunting, and he got to do it with her.

Sometimes, she returns to the D.C. area, tracks him down. She never visits, but he knows when she's around, because she always leaves a small dead animal – a stray dog, a rabbit, a raccoon – on his doorstep, the two bite marks obvious in its flesh. He smiles sadly, and takes them outside to bury them.

After the third animal offering, Tony keeps an eye out for international case files involving victims dead from loss of blood and bite marks. This way, he has an idea of where she is, what she's doing. Occasionally, if she's on the continent, he takes a weekend and runs to her last victim's dump site, hoping to find her.

She's too clever for him; she's always gone before he finds her. But he sees the many beautiful places she has been, and as he explores the scenery, he imagines her wild hair, her silvery laugh, her silent footsteps on this earth.

And for a long time, this is all they have of each other. She wanders and he tries to follow her footsteps; she leaves him gifts and he realizes she had to physically come to his house to leave them there when she knew he wasn't home; he searches for her, the whole planet a potential hidey-hole, and she evades him, unwilling to be found.

* * *

Seven months after Tony's transformation, Abby calls him down to her lab.

At first, Tony thinks it's because of some piece of evidence she needs to discuss – he's acting team leader in Gibbs's absence, and Gibbs is currently out interviewing someone with McGee – but when he comes down, there is no physical evidence out on her table and her computer screen definitely doesn't display the contents of the victim's hard-drive. There are graphs and numbers and equations that he can't even hope to understand.

Confused, he asks, "What's up, Abs?"

"I thought you'd never ask!" Beaming, Abby grabs his arm and pulls him towards her computer. "I have to show you something."

"What is it?"

She is radiant with pleasure and pride. "A little side project I've been working on."

"Okay?"

His skeptical expression makes her laugh. "Oh, Tony, you are going to be _so _excited," she assures him, pointing at the screen. "Do you know what all of this is?"

"Umm…science?"

"Well, yes," she says, "but it's not just any science, Tony. It's _your _science."

She pauses for a beat, waiting expectantly for the flash of understanding. When it doesn't come, she sighs huffily and says, "I've been researching your vampire venom ever since we did those tests—"

"But, wait, didn't you already do those tests? Do I have to do more tests?"

"No! Listen." Abby takes a breath, calms herself, looks him straight in the eye. "Tony, I have been working for the past seven months to make you a cure."

The room goes deadly silent, except the hum of her machines. Abby's smile is coming back, as fear and wonder and reluctant hope light up Tony's eyes.

"You heard me right, DiNozzo," she says. "I think I can make you human again."

"_Seriously_? Wait, how long have you been sitting on this? How long have you had a cure?"

"Not long," says Abby. "I did the final calculations this morning. I ran a few tests. It's not guaranteed – I mean, it's experimental – but I think I may have something good here. I think this is going to take those vampire genes out of your DNA."

"So what is it?" Tony asks. "A pill, an injection?"

"An injection," says Abby. "One should be enough, but we can do more if necessary."

Tony pulls up a stool and takes a seat, his head whirling.

Isn't this what he wanted from the start? A way back into the human life that had been snatched away from him? His good fortune is overwhelming; everything is working out exactly in his favor. He got to come back to work after he transformed, and now Abby has apparently found a cure. A cure to bring him back to who he used to be.

It's a lot to take in. Abby watches him absorb this new information, rocking back and forth on her enormous spiky platforms, still beaming.

"I didn't tell you earlier because I didn't want to get your hopes up, in case it didn't work out," she says. "This wasn't easy, you know. I'm not even sure it'll work. But…but I think the science and the logic is right, and I think it'll cure you."

"Abby, thank you," he says honestly, fervently. "It's…amazing. You're a miracle worker."

He gets up from the stool, hugs her tight, kisses her cheek. "I'm going to get you a Caff-Pow everyday for the rest of your life," he whispers in her ear, and she just laughs.

"You're a sweetheart. But then, what will Gibbs get me for doing a good job?"

"Fine. I'll get you something else."

"No, you don't have to get me anything." She extracts herself from his embrace, leans against her desk, her smile sweet and good-natured. "I'm just happy that we get you back. The real you."

"Aren't you going to miss knowing a real vampire?" Tony asks.

"A little," she admits. "But I prefer you."

He puts his hand to his heart and pretends to wipe a tear. "Oh, Abs."

She laughs, and says, "Get out of here, Tony, I have to get back to work. Whipping up vampire antidotes is not all I'm here for. Shoo! I'll call you again when I have something."

"You got it, Abs," says Tony, saluting her. "We'll talk later."

"Yup!" She waves good-bye, and turns back to her computer.

* * *

That night, as he goes for his usual hunt, he turns Abby's proposal over and over in his head. It is literally unbelievable, that this chance is now an option for him.

Abby is a genius. She is going to give him his life back.

The cosmetic effects of vampirism are certainly enjoyable – he loves the speed, the strength, the clear-headedness, not to mention the new muscles – and yes, they do make him more effective at his job. But he misses his heartbeat, his dulled human senses, which were not bombarded every second with far too much detail. Sometimes it makes his head hurt. He misses eating human food – pizza, beer, coffee – and he misses being the same species as his team. He still feels like he is separated from them as though behind an invisible screen, because he is a vampire and they are human, and this doesn't seem like a divide that will disappear, even with time.

He misses sleeping, and dreaming. He even misses his old emotional range, the way things made him angry or nervous or excited. These feelings are still present in him, which he knows is unusual, but they are muted. He doesn't get to fully participate in human life – and he misses all of it. Even the bad things. Even knowing that his days are numbered, and he has to die someday, face the great unknown. These are all the smaller details of being human – the details that make it worthwhile.

In fact, the only thing he'll miss about being a vampire, besides the petty details of speed and strength, is Ziva.

Ziva, the first thought that popped into his head the moment Abby said the word 'cure.'

He is happy to go back to being a human – if Ziva will come here and do it with him.

But for that, he has to find her first.

* * *

As the days go by, Abby prepares the antidote and asks Tony when he would like to have the injection. He tells her that he has a job to do; it'll take a few days, but when he gets back, he wants the cure right away. He won't do it without Ziva; he just won't.

The police files Tony has been tracking suggest that Ziva is currently in Mexico, terrorizing small towns near the Pacific coast, who guard themselves with crosses and garlic that Tony knows will do nothing to protect them. He takes a couple of vacation days and heads out there after the first few attacks are reported, tries to see if he can find her. He puts on his usual human disguises so that he can wander the country unsuspected. He runs, of course, because it's so much faster – but also because it's a relief. Though he hunts every night, gets to stretch out his legs a little bit, it's nothing like it was when he first transformed, when he could run as fast and as far as he liked, push his limits. The world felt smaller, full of possibilities. He relishes the chance to feel that way again, run uninterrupted all the way through the southern United States and into Mexico.

The first night he arrives, he searches the coast and finds a forest that Ziva is most likely using as a base. It's close to all the towns she has hit, and the wildlife is abundant, providing her plenty of blood. He runs patrols around the forest, his ears pricked for any signs of her movement.

Three hours later, he gets lucky. He hears a rustling in the trees, and instinct tells him that it's her. He keeps his movements as quiet as possible and approaches the tree, searching for her scent, the rustling of the leaves that may betray her location.

He finds her at the edge of the forest, sitting in one of the highest branches of the tallest tree, polishing off a limb of what appears to be her latest victim. He can hear her teeth against the bone, her tongue searching for the last morsel of edible flesh.

The sight is so endearingly familiar that he can't help but shake his head, chuckle inwardly. He has missed her so much.

She hears him climb up, and her face, too, lights up in a smile as he settles in the branches beside her.

"Hey," he says.

"Hello." She puts the head of the bone in her mouth, sucking on it as she drinks in all his details – his pale skin, his clothes reeking of human contact, the dulled down fangs, the flimsy contacts in his eyes trying to mask the blood-red of his irises. "I see you have found me."

"It wasn't easy."

"Good." She grins, and he is reminded how proper vampire fangs look, so sharp and sinister in the moonlight.

"Look, Ziva, I had to find you. I have to tell you something."

"Oh, you missed me? I'm touched," she purrs.

He ignores that. "Do you remember how I told you about the people I worked with at NCIS?"

"I think I do."

"Well, our forensic scientist – her name is Abby – do you remember me telling you about her?"

"Of course!" says Ziva, grinning even more widely. "She is the one that loves vampires."

"Yes. That's right. Now, Abby is an absolute genius. When I went back to NCIS, she ran a bunch of tests on me, and she used the vampire venom in order to come up with a cure. An antidote to vampirism." He pauses, letting the words sink into her. "Ziva…_we could be human again_."

"Human?" Far from being awed and excited, as he had been, Ziva simply snorts, rolls her eyes at him like he's made a bad joke. "Why would I want to be human?"

"Why _wouldn't _you want to be human?" he asks, slightly offended.

"Humans plunder and consume the Earth. They die after only a few years. They are slow and they are stupid," she says. "They let their pettiest emotions rule their lives. Why would I choose to be so weak? Why would I want that when I am what I am?"

"It's boring," Tony insists. "It's lonely."

"You have been a human-lover from the beginning," says Ziva. "I am glad that your Abby has found you a cure. Go and use it. But do not expect me to make the same foolhardy decision."

"Ziva—"

"I am satisfied with my life. And not only is it preferable to be a vampire, you don't even know if the cure works. Are you willing to take that risk, just to be _human_?"

"Yes," Tony says simply. "I want to be human again. I want to get my old life back."

"If there is one thing I have observed, both as a human and as a vampire, it is that you cannot go backward," she says. "You must go forward."

Tony sighs, seeing that this conversation is going nowhere. He finds himself disappointed – though, admittedly, his expectations had been a little high. It wasn't fair of him to assume that he could turn up here and tell her about the cure and have her come sprinting back to NCIS with him to get it.

Vampirism is her only identity. She is comfortable in it. She doesn't want to give it up. She enjoys it in a way he never has. She would never do this and he shouldn't have wasted his time trying to force her to.

But the fact remains – he _has_ missed her. He never stopped. He wants her in his life again.

So he runs his hand through his hair, and says, "Fine. I get that this is what you want. But can you do me one favor?"

"What?"

"Will you come back with me while I do the cure?"

The irrepressible red gleams from behind his contacts. He fixes her with a stare of such pathos, like he genuinely does need her to do this for him, that she finds herself relenting. She did miss him too, after all.

"Fine," she allows. "I will come with you."

From the beseeching puppy-dog stare, he returns to full radiance. "Thank you."

"Are we going back tonight?"

"Yes."

"All right." Ziva tosses the bone she had been munching out of the tree. It lands on the ground with a soft thud. "Then let's go."

"Out of curiosity, was that a human leg you were eating?"

She laughs as she jumps off the tree, lands on the ground far too lightly on all fours. He lands beside her and she turns her impish smile on him, eyes flashing.

"Actually, it was not," she admits. "It was a bear."

"A bear? Not a human?" He gives her a round of applause. "Good job, Ziva. I'm so proud of you."

"I've been on a diet," she acknowledges.

"Awww, Ziva! You missed me!"

"Of course not."

He is beaming, practically jumping up and down on the balls of his feet with excitement. "You missed me, Ziva! You're dieting just for me! I'm so flattered."

"Narcissist."

"Liar."

She raises her eyebrow, her hands on her hips in challenge – but he just does a little victory dance, smiling and smiling. He's like a small child in moments like these. An affectionate smile reluctantly finds its way to her mouth, but then she asks, "So are we going or not?" and he says, "Yeah, yeah, of course. Let's go."

"To NCIS?"

"Yeah. You know where it is?"

"Please do not insult my intelligence."

"Ouch. Cranky."

She rolls her eyes. "Come on. Let's go."

"Race you there?"

"Please. It would not be fair to you."

"I take that challenge!"

"If you insist."

And then she's off, zooming towards the star-littered horizon, almost like she's flying, the world hers to take. And he takes off right behind her, determined to catch up.

* * *

The race is close, but Ziva wins. She arrives at the front door of NCIS a fraction of a second before he does, and she refuses to let him forget it.

They bicker a little, but Tony is more interested in showing Ziva his building, his whole world. Ziva insists that government buildings are all the same everywhere, but she still looks around with some interest, trying to put images to the stories he told of this place he loves so dearly. The team had not expected him back yet, so Gibbs and McGee are out, probably doing interviews. The bull-pen is empty. He takes her there, shows her his desk, Gibbs's desk, McGee's desk.

Ziva strolls by each, noting the decorations, the personal touches. Tony's Mighty Mouse stapler and trinkets, McGee's technical manuals and hand-scribbled notes, Gibbs's neatly-aligned stationary and his few pictures. Then she arrives at the last desk, the empty one across from Tony's, which no one appears to be using.

"Who sits here?" Ziva asks.

She takes a seat in the chair before Tony can say anything, taking in the view of the other three desks. Tony hesitates before answering, a pang going through his chest.

"That's…that's Kate's old desk," he says softly.

"Oh, right. Kate." Even Ziva, the proud owner of no emotions, looks slightly uncomfortable. "I am…sorry."

"No, no, it's okay. We probably should get to replacing her anyway. It's been a year, almost." He clears his throat. "I guess it's about time we fill the empty desk."

She says nothing. This is not her area of expertise – loss, grief, that quietly desolate look on Tony's face, the one that means he is holding back more than he will ever let on. She simply gets up from the desk and asks, perhaps too loudly, where Abby's lab is. Tony snaps back into his senses and gestures down the hall.

They go downstairs together, not speaking. There just doesn't seem to be anything worth saying. They arrive at the door of Abby's lab, the metal music blaring even from here. Ziva wrinkles her nose.

"Is somebody dying in there?" she asks. "If so, am I allowed to have the blood?"

He smirks. "No, Ziva, that's death metal. It's music."

"I may be a vampire, but I know what music is, Tony, and it does _not_ sound like that."

"In Abby's world, it does." Smirking slightly, Tony opens the door and the music greets them as a wall of sound. "Hey, Abby! Surprise, I'm back!"

"Tony!" Abby whirls around and crashes into him with an enormous hug. "Yay, you _are_ back! We hadn't been expecting you for a few days!"

She clings to him for a few seconds longer, her scent – like flowers and Caff-Pow – overwhelming. When she lets him go, she then focuses her attention on his guest.

Abby and Ziva both look one another over – Ziva noting Abby's teetering heels, her pigtails, her black lipstick and the dog collar, her printed t-shirt (fittingly) displaying a bat with fangs, and Abby noting Ziva's pale skin, fangs, red eyes, obvious muscles, all just like Tony's.

Ziva doesn't seem to know how to react to someone like Abby. If left to her own devices, she would probably bite Abby, take her blood, and leave, as she has done to so many before her. But she is Tony's co-worker and friend; Ziva is not allowed to drink this woman's blood. So she stands still, watching Abby, wondering how she will react to someone like Ziva.

Abby approaches Ziva slowly, her eyes wide and round like coins. Like a curious child, she gently touches Ziva's shoulder, feeling the ice of her skin. She stares directly into Ziva's red irises, examines her fangs and her wildly curly hair, apparently fascinated.

"I can't believe I officially know two vampires," says Abby at last. "You're Ziva, right?"

"Yes."

"Tony's told us a lot about you. He's also the reason our boss hasn't already taken you in cuffs and dropped you in a prison cell."

Ziva just smiles a cold, polite, disbelieving smile. Abby chooses to ignore it.

"Anyway, it's nice to finally meet you. Did Tony tell you about the cure? Do you want it too?"

"No, I do not."

To Ziva's surprise, Abby nods, as though this is a fair response.

"I understand," she says. "Being a vampire must be wicked cool."

"It isn't," says Tony shortly. "Not all the time."

"Well, neither is being human," Abby points out. "Anyway. If you don't want the cure, Ziva, why are you here?"

"Tony asked me to come."

"Oh, as moral support?" Abby puts a hand to her heart and sighs. "That's adorable. Vampire love!"

Tony and Ziva exchange glances, and hastily, both correct her: "No, no, it's nothing like that."

"I admit, I'm hoping that once she sees me become human again, she'll take the cure too," says Tony.

"While unlikely, I do not object to doing a favor," says Ziva.

"Right. Of course." Abby gives an enormous wink, then busies herself with a vial full of clear liquid. She takes a syringe and fills it up to about a quarter of its capacity, flicks it with her black fingernails to make sure it's sound and ready.

"Okay, so this shouldn't take long," explains Abby. "According to my calculations, it will take about three minutes after injection for the effects to start taking place. You should be fully yourself within a couple of hours. We can wait for Gibbs and McGee to come back – they won't be long, I don't think – or we can do it now. Whatever you want to do."

"Ummm…" Tony considers. "Well…I mean, I don't really need a huge audience for this…I'll just surprise Gibbs and McGee when they come back."

Abby nods. "Okay. Roll up your sleeve, Tony."

Tony obliges, and Abby brings the syringe closer. There it is, in her hand – the answer to his conundrum. In a matter of minutes, he gets to be human again. He never really believed in miracles, but this – this liquid in Abby's hand is a miracle.

Ziva is quiet, watching the proceedings. She distrusts these strange inventions of humans, their complicated, selfish manipulations of nature. Even if she did want to be human, she would not trust a synthesized chemical – one that looks like water, if she didn't know better – to do the job.

Abby locates a vein in Tony's arm, and pushes the syringe beneath his skin. It takes some effort – his skin is vampire skin after all – but she gets it in, and the spot seems to fizz. Instinctively, his free hand reaches out, finds Ziva's hand, and clutches it tightly. She looks down, surprised, but he inhales sharply, his eyes wide with something that looks suspiciously like panic.

"Tony? Tony, are you all right?" Abby is immediately concerned. She takes the syringe out of his arm and sets it on the desk, and examines the spot where the syringe went in. The entrance site has turned a brilliant, poisonous-looking purple.

"Is that supposed to happen?" Tony asks in an undertone.

"I don't know," says Abby, biting her lip. "I just…I don't know. We'll have to watch it. How do you feel?"

It's a simple question with a complicated answer. Honestly, Tony doesn't know how he feels. The fizzing has stopped, and he can feel the liquid, searing hot and bubbly, in his veins. His stomach is tight and a little bit nauseous; he feels hot and cold and lightheaded all at once. His head is aching, like there has been an earthquake in his neurons and his brain is bouncing around in his skull from the impact. Ziva can feel his hand shake against her palm. Instinctively, she clutches him tighter, as though to stop the shaking, stop the effect of this stupid "cure" he's taken.

He's starting to look nervous now. He's shaking, sweating like he has a fever. This in and of itself is bizarre, since he is a vampire and has no bodily fluids. Abby grabs a tissue and wipes his forehead, sniffs the liquid.

"That's definitely sweat, Tony," she says. "I think it's working."

"We'll see," he manages to choke, as he races off the stool and vomits into the garbage can in the corner of her lab. Abby and Ziva rush over, Abby holding a vial in which to collect some of the vomit. It's a dark, muddy red – nothing solid. Abby puts a few drops of the vomit onto her microscope and inspects the material.

"It looks like blood cells," says Abby. "Tony, I really think it's working. This is probably all the animal blood that had been in your system. Your body is trying to get rid of it."

Tony responds with another wave of vomit, coughing and spluttering. Ziva silently fetches him a napkin, which he gratefully uses to wipe his mouth. Though he is still paler than he was in human form, his cheeks are regaining some of their old color; his eyes are only a muted red; he's already looking smaller, less muscular.

Abby's right. This is working. Tony is suddenly craving pizza, not human blood.

"I can't believe you single-handedly created a cure for vampirism, Abs," says Tony weakly, leaning on Ziva for support as he stumbles back to his stool. "I'm sorry you're not allowed to publish. You'd make a killing."

"It's not about the money, Tony," says Abby, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "I'm just glad you're back. Can I call Ducky and Gibbs and tell them?"

"Be my guest," says Tony.

* * *

Gibbs and McGee come tearing back to the lab a half hour later – Gibbs as gruff and impatient as ever, McGee a little bemused and disheveled. He explains quietly to Abby that when Gibbs got the call, he drove through four red lights, almost caused five accidents, and broke at least fourteen road rules in order to get here as fast as possible.

"How are you doing, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asks at once, looking him up and down with his X-ray eyes.

"I've been better, boss," admits Tony. "I must have barfed, like, a gallon of blood in the past hour. But I think it's working. I'm sweating, see?" He points to his forehead, which is indeed beaded with sweat.

"He has been doing very well, Jethro," says Ducky approvingly. He was the first one Abby called, since he was already in the building, and he came down to the lab immediately, and began to track Tony's physical progress. "His system is currently flushing out his toxins. It is uncomfortable, but Anthony is holding up quite bravely."

Gibbs's smile is small, cautious, but warm. "I'm happy for you, DiNozzo. Good to have you back." He claps his senior field agent on the back, apparently satisfied.

"Tony isn't the only surprise we have for you, Gibbs," announces Abby. "Have you met…Ziva?"

The door to the second room of Abby's lab opens, revealing Ziva, who is sipping something red from one of Abby's Halloween mugs.

"She was getting hungry, so she went hunting," Abby explains. "I sent her with a mug so she could come back here right away."

"Ziva." Gibbs says the name with obvious displeasure, remembering that she is the serial killer that Tony wouldn't let him arrest. But McGee is much more interested; his eyes, like Abby's, go wide and round at the sight of her.

"You're Ziva?" he asks.

"Evidently," she says coolly, taking another sip of her blood.

"I'm—"

"McGee, I know." She smiles, her fangs looking particularly menacing with the background of Abby's usual death metal music, and puts her hand out to shake. Cautiously, McGee shakes it, unable to tear his eyes off of her. There is something beautiful and brutal about her teeth, her merciless red eyes – so unlike Tony's in everything but color – and the mug of human blood in her hand.

"Tony's doing pretty well," Abby tells Gibbs and McGee. "I've been monitoring him ever since I gave him the injection. It's taking a bit longer than I thought it would, but I think by tomorrow, he'll be fully himself again."

"That's great! Congratulations, Tony," says McGee, beaming.

"Thanks, probie." Tony smiles his lazy smile. "I can't wait to actually sleep a full night. And eat real food. And drink coffee."

"I don't think you should take it too fast," warns Abby. "Let's give it a few days before we get you back to eating solids. Stick to water and saltines for now."

"Better than blood!" says Tony, and the humans – Gibbs, Ducky, McGee and Abby – laugh, but Ziva remains steely-eyed. It has been a long time since she has been in such close proximity to so many humans at once; she yearns to bite them, any of them, all of them. The warmth and freshness of their blood attracts her far more than the thin blood she collected from a fawn nearby. Abby had insisted that she return within fifteen minutes, because Tony was not to be without her (ignoring, of course, the fact that Tony had regained the ability to blush and was trying futilely to tell Ziva to take as long as she wanted).

The fawn blood is scraps; she wants a meal. It takes all her self-restraint not to blitz-attack all four of them, slit their throats with her teeth and gorge on the waterfall of blood.

She tries to clear her head of these cravings and tune back into the conversation – which is about how Tony is going to spend the rest of his day.

All four humans agree that Tony should go home and take the rest of the day for himself. Tony disagrees; though he is still clearly feeling very ill, he wants to stay because he'll get bored at home. Abby fusses about webcams and virtual check-ins every half hour; Ducky assures him that he will visit after work and make sure he is medically stable; McGee tells him to get some rest and he'll come over to watch movies together after work; Gibbs simply said, "Go, we've got it covered here."

Finally, Ziva says, "I can stay with him and let you know if anything happens."

All four heads turn to stare blankly at her.

"What?" she asks, irritated. "Don't you trust me?"

Abby is the only one brave enough to break the thick, horrible silence and say, "Well…you were the one to bite him in the first place, right?"

"To save his life!" Ziva snaps. "The coyote was ready to eat him alive. It had already started when I found him."

"That's fine," says Tony. "I'll go back with Ziva. She'll call if we need you."

Gibbs is evidently displeased with this suggestion. "You sure, DiNozzo?" he asks, glancing sideways at Ziva and the mug of blood she is still holding.

"Yes, I'm sure," says Tony.

Ziva is a vampire with better-than-perfect vision; of course she can see all the petty emotions written all over their faces. They are worried that she will bite him again, or kill him, or run away and leave him to die. They are intrigued by her, but they don't trust her; she's the serial killer they chased for two weeks, and she drinks human blood for sustenance. They don't want her near their so recently healed Tony. They don't even know why she's here now, except that for some reason Tony seems very attached to her. He's probably deluded. This woman is dangerous at best, psychotic at worst.

She is a vampire. Of course they cannot trust what they do not know, and her reputation precedes her.

But she knows better than they do. So she says, "Come, Tony," and steadies him easily with one hand around his shoulder.

"Bye," says Tony, smiling feebly and waving good-bye. "I'll keep you guys updated."

The team says their good-byes and waves as he and Ziva leave Abby's lab. The last thing Tony hears before the lab door closes is Gibbs's low voice, prominent amidst the group despite its softness: "Be safe, DiNozzo."

* * *

When Tony and Ziva arrive outside to the weak, late-afternoon sun, she turns to him and asks, "Can you run?"

"Not anymore," he says. "My legs feel like jelly."

"Do you have your car?"

"No."

"Can I steal one?"

He shoots her a Look. "I'm a federal agent, Ziva. No, you can't steal a car."

She sighs irritably. "You are really tying my hands here."

"I can call a cab," he says, searching his pocket for his cell phone.

"Do not be such a human," scoffs Ziva. "Come. I will take you."

He eyes her with unease. "How?"

"I'll run us both to your place," she says.

"Wait, by _carrying me?_"

"How else am I supposed to take you? Unless Abby's mixture gave you the ability to fly?"

He rolls his eyes at her, but he's blushing, the color startling to her after his vampire pallor. "I'm not letting you carry me anywhere."

"Do not be such a baby," says Ziva, mischief glinting in her eyes now. "It will not make you less of a man if I carry you on my back."

"Do you even hear yourself?"

"Five minutes and it will be over. Come on."

Blushing deep red, Tony's expression darkens and he heeds her command. Though she is physically much smaller than he is, she has no trouble hoisting him up on her back. He wraps his arms self-consciously around her neck, hitches his legs on her sides, and closes his eyes, as she takes off running and he clings on for dear life.

He never realized, as a vampire, how fast he was truly going when he ran. Ziva is barely exerting herself, yet they are a blur, their velocity exceeding that of the cars, maybe even the airplanes. She is true to her word – they arrive at his place in five minutes flat – and then she lets him off, lets him hold her arm for support as he dismounts and takes her inside his apartment.

His home is small, but cozy and obviously well-loved. He has an elaborate set-up for his movies, including a large plasma-screen television and bookshelves full of movies. It smells vaguely of sweaty socks and pizza and the smell she used to find in his neck when they spent all their time in the Norfolk forest – something sharp and musky and a little bit sweet.

He wobbles to the couch and relaxes into it, his mouth open and his eyes closed, as though this is truly bliss on Earth. She chuckles and busies herself in the kitchen with the teapot. She makes him a cup of mint tea – something she used to drink when she was human – and brings it to him on the couch. At the smell, his eyes open, and he beams at the sight of it.

"Thanks, Ziva," he says, accepting the tea and taking a sip.

"It is the best I could do with the limited supply of your fridge," she remarks.

"Yeah. Well. You're lucky I had even that; I haven't bought food in months. I only went a few days ago so that I would have a bit of stuff for whenever Abby changed me back."

"You really are excited to be human again, aren't you." It isn't a question; it's a statement of fact.

"I am," says Tony. "I wish you'd do it too. I think you'd like being human again."

Her smile is wry and a little sad. "I don't think so. Not the way you do."

"You haven't even tried it."

"Sometimes, you just know."

He is so small and frail beside her on the couch as his eyes flicker shut again. He's exhausted from the transformation, but it's more than that. It's the cure, the humanness returning to him. He is a plush-toy along with the rest of humanity, his defenses meager, his bones brittle. He is amongst the creatures she eats without a thought. He is not the Tony she transformed, the Tony she missed, the Tony with whom she rediscovered her sensuality.

Tony doesn't attract her anymore. He is a human. A remarkable one, certainly, but just a human. She craves only his blood.

He falls asleep pretty quickly, his breathing slowing down and his limbs going completely loose, his tea sitting on the table, barely drunk. She leaves it there, in case he wants it later, and unearths a spare blanket from inside a closet in the bathroom. She throws it over him and there he sleeps, mouth wide open, a little drool collecting on his chin. Totally helpless. So…mortal.

She wants to hunt, but she had promised him – and his team – that she wouldn't leave him. So she finds a book in his room and sits down beside him, reading it and glancing over at him every few seconds to make sure his sleep remains undisturbed. The apartment is totally still, silent, as isolated from the world as their forest used to be.

She settles in for what she is sure will be a long, long night.

* * *

When she is forty pages into the book, he starts to snore.

When she is fifty-five pages in, his body seems to feel her presence, and his head falls onto her shoulder. His skin is so warm against her shoulder; she feels the snuffles of his breathing, the small flecks of drool.

If any – _any _– other creature dared to drool on her this way, she would have their neck snapped and their blood in her throat before they could even process her displeasure.

* * *

The nightmare begins when she is one hundred and twenty-eight pages into the book.

Tony's breath on her shoulder – up until now, a steady rhythm – begins to get shallow, erratic. Immediately, Ziva closes the book and negotiates his head up from her shoulder and against the back of the couch. His skin _is _warm against hers – but because she is a vampire, and has forgotten what regular human warmth feels like, she hadn't realized that he was warmer than he should be.

He has a fever. His breathing has gone funny. She begins shaking him awake, saying his name over and over and over again, but his shoulders are limp and he is in and out of consciousness.

"Tony, can you hear me?" Ziva practically screams at him, and all he can do is mumble something incoherently.

Ziva snatches the cell phone out of his pocket and calls Ducky, then Abby, then Gibbs and McGee. They are all on their way over. In the meantime, Ziva tries her best to rouse Tony, get him coherent and talking.

"Tony, Tony, are you listening? The team is coming. We're going to take care of you. What is happening? Can you tell me what you feel?" she demands.

"I…dunno…"

"_Tony_. Tony, just look at me."

He tries, he does. He fights to open his now fully hazel eyes and focus them on Ziva's red ones. But he begins to dry-heave, and Ziva runs to the kitchen, grabs the trash can and brings it over to him. He keeps dry-heaving into it, unable to bring up any blood, any liquid, anything at all. He just coughs, his body shaking all over, his skin tomato-red.

"Tony?"

He tries to say words, but his tongue is too thick and slippery and nothing is coming out. He's burning up; his temperature seems to be rising by the minute. He keeps coughing, dry-heaving, and still nothing comes. Ziva is on the verge of panic.

"Tony, stay with me," she says. "Tony, Tony, can you hear me?"

He tries one more time to look at her, really look at her, as lucidly as he can muster. And when he does, he leans in, kisses her sloppily on the lips, his feverish heat clashing wildly with her iciness.

She breaks the kiss, holds his hot face in her cold hands. "Tony, you cannot do this," she practically orders him. "Stay with me."

"I—I'mgonna—d-die—"

"No, you will not die," she shouts at him. "Do you understand me? You will not die."

Somehow, he has the gall to smile faintly.

"Only boss t-told me—plague—dying t-then too—"

"Stop it. You won't die."

He's still smiling, shaking his head slightly.

"Tony. Tony, stay with me. _Stay with me, Tony_."

But he's not. She's losing him. She's shaking him and shaking him, but he's like a rag doll, his head lolling dangerously on his neck. Fortunately, at this moment, Gibbs doesn't bother knocking and simply breaks down the door, McGee and Ducky and Abby in tow. They are all disheveled, still in work clothes, and worried sick.

"He was sleeping, and then he started breathing strangely, and he has this fever—" Ziva tries to explain, but Gibbs pushes her out of the way, firmly but not unkindly. He sits on one side of Tony, and Abby sits on the other, wringing his hand and stammering his name repeatedly like an incantation, and Ducky kneels on the floor in front of Tony. Ducky alone remains calm, deadly calm, like the logical man of science that he is.

Scientists need information to deduce explanations. So Ducky takes Tony's temperature – it has shot up to one hundred and six – and tries to ask him questions about how he feels, where it hurts.

Tony tries to stammer answers, but none are coming. They are all losing him. Ducky opens his medical kit, wipes the sweat off his face, tells Abby and McGee to get more cold towels and ice to cool his body down. Ducky takes Tony's pulse, finds it going too fast, and injects medicine into his veins to slow his heart down.

Gibbs is tense, whispering something low and urgent into Tony's ear – most likely doing what he did when Tony had the plague, telling him he isn't going to die. Abby and McGee arrive with the towels and ice. McGee places them around Tony's face and chest, his hands shaking. Abby paces the room, sometimes flying to Tony's side and clutching his hand, and other times walking around and around in circles, unable to watch.

Ziva is Ducky's assistant, handing him whatever he asks, doing whatever he needs, but she is worried and Ducky is worried, and they can tell that he's not going to make it. Not this time.

Ducky does his best until the very end, but Tony's heart gives out and his eyes close for good and he slumps back on the couch, the life drained out of him.

He is human, but he is dead. He is gone, gone to a place where none of them can ever reach him again.

The group goes silent then, all four of them crowded around Tony. He is still flushed, still warm. He looks like he is simply asleep, resting his body so that he can be up and about tomorrow, bright and funny as ever.

But he won't. He won't. It's too much to bear. Abby buries her face in her hands and flees the room.

Gibbs appears immobilized, simply staring at what was so recently his senior field agent, the one he thought he had gotten back against all the odds. But now, within the space of a year, he has lost Kate _and _Tony. And Abby is crying in the other room, because she is the one who made the cure that gave him his life back, then took it away. And McGee's mouth opens and closes like a goldfish, unable to process what is happening. And Ducky is packing up his things, slowly, deliberately, unable to even look at the body because then it becomes real, that Tony is dead, that he is now bound for autopsy instead of the bull-pen. And Ziva is simply sitting on the floor, her face frozen in blank shock.

Gibbs takes one look at the group of them, then stands up, team leader to the end, and quietly gives his orders. Ducky, take him out to the car. McGee, go help him. Ducky and McGee obediently carry Tony between them, take him out through the apartment door. There is no gurney to help them; Ducky did not think to bring one, because everyone assumed he would survive the night.

Gibbs has to go to Abby, hug her close, stroke her hair and let her cry and remind her that it wasn't her fault, because everyone knew the risks and went ahead with it anyway. But he is left alone in the living room with Ziva, who still hasn't moved a single muscle since Tony's heart gave out.

He crouches down to her level, catches her demonic red eyes, which now shine with horror. He tells her, "Thanks for calling."

He puts a hand to her frigid shoulder, his hand as warm on her as Tony's was. Pressure builds up in every cell in her body. Gibbs retreats, runs to Abby. Ziva remains on the floor, motionless.

She hears Abby's sobs in the next room, growing in volume as the rumbles of Gibbs's voice grow more and more inaudible. She hears Abby howl, "But it was _my _fault! _I_ made that stupid, stupid antidote!"

Ziva doesn't belong in this place. She doesn't deserve to sit with them and witness their grief, their unbearable loss. They were his family; they were the ones who loved him. She was just the vampire that ruined everything for him.

Abby is wrong; this is Ziva's fault. Ziva's fault, because yes, she was the one who bit him, and she was also the one who allowed him to believe so wholeheartedly in Abby's cure. Ziva herself had doubted the chemical. She should have told him to wait, to test it in other ways before he put it in his body. She should have told him to just get over his nostalgia, and get used to being a vampire. She should have done something more than sit around watching him get into this mess.

And now he is gone, and Abby is crying, and Gibbs has hardened, and McGee and Ducky have to deal with the now dead body of their co-worker, their friend. This building is not enough to absorb their anguish; the sky is not big enough. These soft, weak little humans have feelings, and God, they feel them.

She hears footsteps. Ducky and McGee returning upstairs. Abby is still crying; Gibbs is still with her. It's time to disappear.

Ziva slips out of the window, jumps down to the sidewalk where as usual, she lands too lightly. The night is cold, too still, too silent. It is maddening to think that the city sleeps while Tony DiNozzo lies dead, well on his way to becoming as cold as she.

Ziva's stomach folds in upon itself, so tight and so painful that she stumbles for a moment. The pressure that had begun to build in the apartment reaches a fever pitch. She has to move, she has to run, she has to go someplace, do something, anything.

So she flees. Lets her legs fly out from under her and take her somewhere. It doesn't matter where. She runs and runs at a blinding rate – faster than she's ever gone, faster even than the night she tried to run away from Tony after their first kiss – and disappears.

* * *

There is a funeral for Tony – a large, grand one in Washington D.C. He gets a hero's funeral, complete with the American flag on the handsome mahogany coffin that Ducky picked out. His father goes, arm and arm with a woman half his age wearing a shiny diamond wedding band. Virtually every NCIS agent is present to pay his or her respects. The weather is beautiful, cool but not chilly, the sky simply gray – no obtrusive sunlight, no uncomfortable rain, just a soft, unremarkable gray.

The team is there, all dressed in black. Abby, who has been crying on and off since it happened, her lab silent of all music; Ducky, who has been both subdued and snappy after having to do his second autopsy of a team-member; McGee, who hasn't said more than ten words since his partner died; Gibbs, who has spent more and more time in his basement, keeping his hands compulsively busy and drinking more and more scotch.

Ziva tries to go. She lingers behind the trees to watch a few eulogies, maybe see them lower the coffin into the ground. But ultimately, she can't do it. She can't. Her stomach has become some diseased thing poisoning her abdomen, and she can't seem to do much at all besides take refuge in trees, grab easy kill and drink only the minimum to satiate her hunger.

It is unusual behavior for a vampire, but Ziva is not so frightened by the unusual anymore. Her life has been little else but unusual since the coyote decided to attack Tony DiNozzo seven months ago. His life changed forever that night, but so did Ziva's. She has been slowly unraveling since their first encounter, and now she is all the way undone.

He asked her once, to remember what it was like being human. And now she's remembering. Oh, she is remembering.

It was just like this before she turned. Pain, and grief, and loss. She lived in Israel; loss was a cruel presence in everyone's life there. She grew up with it; it was a part of her DNA. She lost her little sister the day she lost her humanity. Whenever she thought there was nothing more to lose, life surprised her by taking something else away.

When she became a vampire, it was a chance to forget. To live a different life, one in which she got to do the taking, and nothing could be taken from her. And she was fine, she functioned well for many years.

But now she remembers.

And Tony is gone.

It is silent, unshakable agony, existing with this knowledge. Her body shakes, and her veins feel as though they are full of acid, and she can't even run anymore. Her legs simply won't obey her. She is stuck, trapped, in every way she can think of.

She remembers, she remembers.

Is this what it's like, being human? This constant ache, this threat of mortality hanging over her head? Why would Tony have wanted this? Why would he have fought so hard to have it back?

Why did these things happen? Why did he have to take that injection?

She will spend the rest of her eternal life asking herself this question.

* * *

She tries, she really does. She tries to live on. Tries to run, wrestle the animals, hunt them and drink the blood and eat the flesh and even the bones. She travels to every continent, every natural wonder. She is a nomad for several days, never staying in one place too long, always looking for the next distraction.

She tries. But her best efforts are not enough.

Two weeks after Tony's death, Ziva finds herself in a forest in California. The restless agony that consumed her body right after it happened has subsided, and left in its absence a vast, inconsolable emptiness. It acts as a black hole, takes all her movement and physical sensations away. She is a numb frozen nugget of carbon-based life, floating along the vibrant quilt of the United States with absolutely nothing to offer.

Sitting in the forest in the dead of night, lying at the base of a tree with so little strength that any old animal could come to her now and chew her up – this is when it happens. When the pressure behind her eyes bursts, and suddenly there is wetness on her face.

Ziva tastes it as it flows down her cheek, and finds that they are tears.

She has been a vampire for ten years, unable to sweat or have a pulse, yet now, on this night, her tears have finally come. The weak, shameful human emotions reach a crescendo, a climax, inside of her, and her body seems to both wither away, and finally blossom, as the coldness she has hid behind for so long gives way to something hot and angry and terribly, terribly sad. And human.

And she cannot stand it.

Furiously, she wipes away the tears, and does the only thing she can think to do: she fells as many trees as quickly and as brutally as she can, and collects them all around her, a colossal mound of wood reaching to the moon. She cuts them hard enough and fast enough to make her muscles complain, viciously enjoying the physical strain of it, like a punishment she roundly deserves.

Then she takes two twigs, sets them alight, and throws them to the center of the pile. She takes several more, makes fire, sends them to the center of the pile as well. Slowly, slowly – and then suddenly all at once – a blaze begins. Fire catches, jumping from one tree trunk to another's branches to another's trunk, gaining speed and heat and fantastic strength.

The wildfire seems to touch the stars within a matter of minutes, as it takes on a life of its own, roaring and rising and swallowing up even the healthy trees that she didn't knock down. It is a mammoth wall of relentless heat.

And Ziva walks calmly, calmly, ever so calmly, right into the blazing hell of the fire's center.

It is hot enough that even her vampire skin and nerve-endings object. It is pain like nothing she has ever felt – yet, it's close, somehow, to how she felt when Tony took his last breath. The fire is as hot as she is cold, and she dares it, dares it to make her warm again.

Vampires are difficult to kill – and she knows this, because she has tried it before, on herself a few times after she turned, and other vampires with whom she has spitefully squabbled on occasion – but this, this might just be enough. This fire looks poised to burn down half the state soon enough; it will certainly burn one single vampire body.

And it's starting to, it's starting to. Her skin is melting. Her bones glow red. The heat seeps inside her, preparing to explode, blast her into a million tiny shards – and she is all right with that tonight.

The moment – her end – is coming. The fire is out of control now, devouring the land, preparing to devour the people. Let it, if it so desires.

She remembers everything.

The fire consumes it all.

* * *

A/N: So…umm…yeah.

Well, that's it. There's your ending.

Like I told you before, I tried other routes. I had one in which the cure worked, and Tony convinced Ziva to use it, and they got to live happily ever after. I had one in which Tony and Ziva never really saw one another again, and Ziva would leave Tony the animal carcasses once in a while, and when vampire!Tony outlived the rest of the team, he went back to find Ziva. I had one in which both of them took the cure but Ziva died and Tony lived.

Believe me, there were lots of ways to go here. But Tony was the one who wanted to be human, and Ziva didn't, so this was the only thing that made sense. Tony dies, and Ziva finds her humanity, can't take it, and dies too. She was never all that great at being a human anyway.

So. Now is where I bid you all adieu.

But first I must thank you all – truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you – for sticking this out with me. I know, it's weird, and it got very, very sad at the end there, but I appreciate every one of those reviews, favorites and alerts. I do. You guys are awesome.

Now, go find yourself a box of tissues, cry yourself out for a little while, and I'll do the same, and hopefully next time I post it'll be some nauseatingly happy one-shot to help me get over the pain of this.

Love, love, love to you all. Xx

-Z


End file.
